The Redemption of Traven
by Harry O'Henth
Summary: He didn't ask for any of it. He didn't want his family to be murdered, or the Jedi to discard him because of his age. He never asked to be taken by an organization known as the RSIS, or to be trained as a soldier and special agent for the Republic. He had nowhere else to go. But if there was one thing that he was always good at, it was surviving. So he would do just that.
1. Part 1 Chapter 1

A/N: I know. I said I wouldn't, but I did. There aren't any major changes, but there was fine-tuning that was necessary, and I will do it. So, here we go again.

I own nothing but my own added content.

Prologue

"Be mindful of your feelings, my very young Padawan," Master Greus admonished his student as they walked through the halls of the Jedi Temple on Coruscant. Hundreds of busy Jedi were crowding the open atrium and walking past each other, talking in hushed voices so as not to disturb the younglings training in the rooms on either side of the great antechamber. Sasha and her Master were on their way to meet with the High Council for a mission briefing, but the location of the mission was...unorthodox.

Eshan! Of all the places to send a pair of Jedi, Eshan, the homeworld of the battle-loving Echani, seemed to be the most useless. What was there to do on Eshan, so near to the Core Worlds? It wasn't like anything bad could happen, not under the watch of the Republic and with so many of the Echani knowing how to fight better than some Jedi. Someone would have to be insane to attempt anything on Eshan, and yet the Council felt it necessary to send a pair of Jedi to investigate some claim or another. Of course, her Master trusted the Council, even if they didn't always see eye to eye, and he didn't appreciate the annoyed thoughts that he was receiving from Sasha's end of the training bond. They entered the elevator that would take them to the top of the spire in which the Council chambers was situated, and Sasha turned to her master, huffing in frustration.

"The last time they sent us out to 'investigate' all we found was a bunch of very rude, very pissed off moisture farmers with a bad attitude," she said. "So why are they sending us out once more, to one of the safest planets in the Republic..."

"Sasha," Greus interrupted gently, putting a large hand on her shoulder. Sasha was a tall girl, almost two meters tall, but Greus was a hulk in that regard, and she only reached his chin. His chiseled features were inclined down to look into Sasha's green eyes, and she could see the amusement glittering behind the hard gray orbs. "It will be alright."

Sasha huffed and turned away, watching the cityscape of Coruscant through the glass of the elevator as they were lifted up to the top of the tallest spire for kilometers in any direction. When the doors opened the Master and Padawan walked through the small, dimly lit hallway that led to the Council chambers, the doors opening quickly and revealing only three of the twelve Masters on the Council. Master Vrook, Master Vash, and Master Zez-Kai Ell. All three were seated in the low, comfortable chairs that were lined up in a ring along the circumference of the glass room, the setting sun reflecting warm light into the circular room that bounced around off the reflective walls, causing Sasha to squint slightly as she took her place beside her master in the center of the chamber, facing the three Masters and waiting.

There was a moment where no one spoke, simply reaching out with the Force to evaluate each other. Sasha looked at the three immensely powerful Masters in awe, Greus stood impassively, his face as unreadable as a stone wall, and the three Jedi Masters, ever critical, ever watchful, scrutinized their pupils. It was then that Lonna Vash, one of Greus' previous apprentices and the newest addition to the Council, broke out in a broad smile.

"I'm glad to see that you accepted our request," she said at long last, her voice light and carefree. Sasha knew through the training bond that her master was smiling. It brought a sadness to Sasha's heart to think that her Master, one of the best Jedi in the galaxy, was held from a seat on the Council because of his tendencies to take strange apprentices. He could have been on the Council years ago if he hadn't trained Lonna Vash, a student that had been deemed too old for training. When she was Knighted, he should have become a Council member, but he took Sasha under his wing, once again causing the other Masters to frown as he broke the code once again. Her Master sent her an admonishing feeling when he found what she was thinking however, and the brief shake of his head that she saw was enough to make her shrug.

"Of course, Masters," he said, smiling just as warmly as his previous apprentice.

It was Vrook, wrinkled, grumpy Vrook, that spoke next, immediately throwing a wet blanket over the atmosphere with his words. "There has been word of a most dire situation on Eshan," he said. "I expect that you have already informed your padawan of what we have heard."  
"I have not," Greus said. "I thought that was to be the purpose of this session."

Vrook frowned, looking at Sasha with squinted eyes, when the warm, wise voice of Zez-Kai Ell filled the chamber, reverberating off the walls with a careful strength and calm projection. "We have sensed a disturbance in the Force, centered on Eshan," he said. "The reason behind this disturbance is unknown, but those strong in the Unifying Force have sensed something profound, perhaps even dangerous, about to occur."

"The Unifying Force?" Greus asked. "I was unaware that the situation was that serious."

Vrook looked displeased. "Serious it may be, but it is still unknown to us. We believe that it may have something to do with the upcoming vote over the income tax laws in the Echani Lower Council, but it is pure conjecture. That is why we're sending you, Master Greus, because you are strong enough in the Force to deal with any kind of problem that may present itself."  
Sasha didn't know much about the Unifying Force or the Living Force, but she did know that if there was a disturbance in the Unifying Force, then something very profound was about to happen, especially if it was felt on a different planet from where it could have happened. She frowned when she thought about the implications of what she'd been told. Maybe going to Eshan would be more exciting than she had originally believed.

"My Padawan and I will begin the journey tomorrow," Master Greus said. "If the disturbance is centered on a person, and not an event, what should I do?"

The Council was silent for a moment. Leave it to Greus to come up with a situation that even the Council hadn't thought of, but the three wise Jedi had an answer for him in a moment. "Report to us when you find something," Vash said. "And we will make a decision then."

Greus nodded and smiled, waiting for the Council to dismiss them. When the words, 'May the Force be with you,' finally came, the two Jedi left without another word, waiting for the doors to close in the elevator before turning to each other. Sasha could see worry on her Master's forehead, but he was worried about every mission that they embarked on, so she thought little of it. She directed her gaze back out to the cityscape of Coruscant, watching the small shuttles zip through the alleys between the buildings. The throng of life that constantly emanated from the city around the Temple always amazed Sasha. There were so many people, each with their own signature in the Force, their own destinies to be fulfilled, no matter how boring or insignificant that destiny may look.

"I didn't know that there had been a disturbance," Greus said just as the doors opened. Sasha blinked and looked up at him.

"Why does it matter?" she asked.

Greus sighed, turning his gray eyes back to the temple around them, watching the Jedi that walked its halls with fondness and familial love. "It means that whatever is happening on Eshan is very serious indeed. More serious, perhaps, than even Vash can anticipate."

Sasha blinked. Whatever happened, she just hope that it didn't end up having galaxy-wide repercussions. She always hated being the cause of such things.

* * *

The sound of labored breathing filled the sparring rooms of the Lordran Academy; two young men squared off in the center of the mats, surrounded by emotionless teachers and excited students. Their nearly identical appearances differed only in expression, one filled with concentration and confidence, the other frustration and anger. In a flash, they were upon each other, movements supple and powerful, every blow striking with purpose, every defense stalwart and unflinching. Their movements were lightning fast, predicting each others attacks as they danced across the mats, giving and receiving territory in a fluid push and pull. It was a rush, exhilarating, enlightening, and the spectators held their breath as they watched the Academy's two most promising students compete in the final round of the weekly competitions.

One of the boys, Traven Maleesta, was just finishing his second semester in the Academy, training to be a guard for the Echani Councils, and the other, a boy in his fourth year named Fren, was training to be a Special Operations soldier for the Republic. Traven was remarkable with his use of the styles, switching seamlessly between them as he traded blows with Fren, but Fren was the elder student, and had more experience, lending him the edge he needed to stay in the fight against the Academy's fastest learner. A fist struck for Fren's throat, hoping to choke him, but he foresaw the move and dodged, attempting to grab the arm, but it was gone too quickly, and he grasped only air. A punch collided with Fren's ribs, knocking the air from him, and he responded in kind, kneeing Traven in the gut before disengaging briefly, settling back into his stance and stepping forward boldly.

Traven knew that he was probably going to lose. He was a very good student in the Academy, but that didn't make up for two years of seniority. It that didn't stop him from trying his hardest to show them all how good he was, however. He deflected another attack, his defense impenetrable as he searched for an opening in his opponent's form, knocking aside feet and fists that rained from every angle, giving ground quickly. When he reached the edge of the mats, he realized that he could retreat no further, blocking a swift kick that was aimed for his side and going on the offensive, catching Fren's wrist and twisting,bending the arm in a way that it wasn't supposed to go. Fren's entire body followed the movement, trying to avoid damaging his arm, and he took hold of Traven's shoulder, taking advantage of a pressure point there to force Traven to release. Traven did, swiping Fren's hand to the side, away from his body, and striking at his chest with both fists, throwing the older boy back and to the mats. The four year student grunted and brought himself to a knee, trying to catch his breath but Traven wanted to make sure the fight didn't go any longer, seeing victory before him as he slipped behind Fren, shrugging off the trainee's attempt to pull him to the ground, taking hold of the same pressure point that Fren had exploited on him before but on both sides.

Traven had been put in this situation before, and he knew the pain that was flowing through Fren's mind as Traven demanded a yield, Fren's hands pulling uselessly at Traven's, muscles working in his shoulders to try and alleviate the pain to no avail. Finally, with a groan of defeat, Fren conceded the match and fell to the mats, causing smiles to break out on the instructor's faces and cheers to fill the room. Traven stood, aching from the tough competition, and offered a hand to his opponent, smiling as Fren took it.

He wasn't expecting the boy to pull him down, regardless of the rules of the tournament, and smash his fist into Traven's nose, blood spurting from it as the cartilage was snapped. Traven, stunned by his opponent's disregard for honor, threw Fren's arms away in a rage, ignoring the blood that was dripping from him as he slammed his own fist into the older boy's face, returning the favor. It was only when the teachers pulled the two away that Traven stopped seeing red and relaxed, falling limp in the arms of Cherya, his mentor and instructor. As Fren was led away, Cherya turned Traven to her and swore at the sight of his broken nose.

"That little bastard," she said, taking his shoulder and leading Traven to the Academy medical bay, where she sat him on the medical table, wiping the blood from his face with maternal care and taking hold of his nose.

Traven stiffened at the pain as she maneuvered the broken cartilage back into the correct position, fastening a device that was made specifically for this injury to his face, holding his nose in place as she administered kolto, smooth hands brushing against his soft skin as she took care of her best student. When she was finished, and the kolto had done its work, Traven's nose was the same as it had been before, aching dully with residual pain from the injury. Cherya smiled at him and clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"Well," she said. "You won anyways."

Traven smiled and slid off of the table. There was no reward for winning the weekly contests. It was simply a way of expressing yourself to your peers in the Academy, a way to show off what you were learning. Traven had fought many honorable opponents that day, and he had learned a lot about his peers in the process. That was the purpose for it, and that was why it was important, but the broken nose at the end of it all certainly wasn't a fun thing to deal with. "I did," Traven said. "I was taught by the best, after all."

Cherya shook her head. "Flattery gets you nowhere," she said, but her eyes betrayed her pride at his compliment. She drew him into a brief embrace before holding him at arm's length. "Aren't you going home today? For break?"

"Yes," Traven said, the thought widening his smile. "Grezzle is probably waiting outside right now."

Cherya laughed. "I'll have to go talk to him. You'd better not keep him waiting," she said, smiling at her student as he hurried out of the medical bay. She sighed, washing his blood from her hands and running them through her silky white hair. She didn't know what they were going to do with him for the next three years, but she doubted that anyone would be winning the weekly competitions besides him for a long time. Until he was gone, perhaps, but it was hard to tell. His victory over Fren had been decisive, regardless of the impulsive boy's disregard for the rules at the end of it, even though she could see that Traven hadn't been expecting to win, he had. She had known that he would since the beginning, three hours ago. With a smile, she went to meet Grezzle outside.

* * *

On the other side of Eshan, the Lower Council was gathering, beginning to talk about the ever-so-important vote that was coming up in three days. Three days until the bicentennial renewal of the treaty with the Republic about taxes. This time, unlike fifty years ago, it was a contest between two sections of the Council. Those representing the consumption tax laws, and those backing the income tax laws. The current laws were to be replaced by one of these two sets of legislation that would determine what kind of tax the citizens of Eshan paid for the next fifty years, and many of the more agricultural districts of the planet had decided that income taxes were getting old, and their representatives, more than a fourth of the Council, had written the consumption tax laws as a result, passing them through both of the necessary courts and pitting them against the income tax in the Council. Many of the Councilors didn't know why they even tried, not when the High Council was in support of the income tax, but the representatives were the slaves of the people, and the people of their districts wanted consumption tax, apparently. They wouldn't get it. Not if three fourths of the Lower Council had anything to say about it.

Corruption was rampant in the Councils of Eshan, despite what the people liked to believe about Echani honor and trustworthiness. There was a sizable group of the Council that were making millions of credits from the income tax laws, and if the consumption tax passed, all that income would disappear. As a result, they were willing to do very unsavory things to ensure that their way of life remained unmolested. One such Councilor was standing in the communications room of his office, the face of a very dangerous looking man floating above the holoprojector, a strip of cloth covering his right eye and a long, thick scar running from the top of his forehead, through the bandage, and down his cheek. It was safe to assume that the eye, if it was even still there, would never see anything again.

It was typical of shady characters to lose eyes, the Councilor thought idly as he discussed his business with the slaver. Slavers didn't often take specialized jobs, he knew, but the pay for this particular job was disgusting, and the Councilor needed the hostages to look like they were alive until after the vote.

"I want you to go to the Maleesta estate near Chezik, I've sent the coordinates to your ship's computer, and take the mother, daughter, and two sons living there. Everyone else can be killed," he said. "When you have them, I want video confirmation. The estate is to be razed. You know the pay."  
Half a million credits. That was an outrageous amount of money for a relatively easy job. Councilor Maleesta didn't hire security for his home, not like the other Councilors did, and such a strong supporter of the consumption tax laws voting for the income tax laws would surely influence the weaker minds of the Council to vote the way _he _wanted. He had a lot of money riding on these laws, after all.

The man in the hologram frowned, watching Meethle from his ship that was orbiting the planet. "We'll do it," he said a long last. "Send the pictures and names of the ones you want alive."

The Councilor smiled, plugging his datapad into the holoprojector and sending four names to his contact. Traven, Myria, Trynon, and Lyria. Their father would vote the way that _he _wanted him to in three days, that much was going to be made certain.

A/N: So. Of those of you that have read the original prologues, all three, is this an improvement? Let me know.


	2. Part 1 Chapter 2

Chapter 1

Leaving the Academy was always something of a bittersweet event for Traven. He spent the majority of his year in the towering durasteel structure, training to be the best fighter on Eshan, a feat that was very hard to do considering every Echani's inborn affinity for combat. He was well on his way to achieving that goal, however, having already become the best in the Academy, but there were other academies on Eshan, other places that people learned the arts of combat. With his single bag packed, Traven slid into the passenger seat of his father's landspeeder, Grezzle's sure hands dancing across the controls as they started to pull away from the Academy. Cherya watched the expensive speeder go, accelerating quickly to breakneck speeds, before turning back to the gargantuan structure that was the Academy of Lordran, still thinking of Traven's duel with Fren.

Traven had other things on his mind as he anticipated his return home after four hundred thirty days away. Years on Eshan were longer than the Galactic standard by two hundred days, since the planet was further away from its sun than most hospitable worlds in the Republic, and Traven had been operating on the Galactic Standard calendar for the last year, but he never forgot the date on Eshan. It was the third day of the thirteenth month of the year. Traven didn't quite know what year it was in the Eshan calendar, but he knew the date in Galatic Standard, which was the only date that anyone cared about, anyway. Traven smirked when he pictured his mother, offended by the sentiment, with her hands on her hips, reprimanding him about remembering his 'Echani heritage.' There wasn't anyone on Eshan that was more posterboy Echani than Traven. Stoic, calm, fearless, skilled, observant, wise. These all described the man that Traven was growing up to be.

Grezzle, on the other hand, was less about honor and more about smiles, looking over at his younger companion with a wide grin and taking a hand off the wheel to clap Traven's shoulder. The landspeeder swerved dangerously close to the chest-high barriers on the right side of the street but Traven wasn't worried. He was sure that the ex-commando knew what he was doing behind the wheel of a landspeeder, even if he didn't act like it most of the time. "Finally free!" Grezzle exclaimed, laughing. Traven smiled at his friend.

"Indeed," he said. "I have been counting the days with anxiety."

Grezzle looked over at him and blinked. "You're even more robotic now than you were half a year ago, kid! What are they doing to you at the Academy?"

Traven actually laughed, a rare thing, and lifted his glittering silver eyes to his friend. "It's grueling, I will say. The regimen has only gotten harder."

"What form have you learned so far?" Grezzle asked, curiosity oozing from every pore. Traven shrugged.

"Four," Traven said offhand, looking back to the road that Grezzle was navigating at nearly five-hundred kilomters per hour. They would be at Chezik in less than two hours at this rate, since Lordran wasn't that far from the small agricultural district of Eshan. Grezzle blinked when he heard Traven's answer.

"Four?!" he said. "After only two years?"

Traven grinned and nodded with pride. "I won the competition this week," he said, knowing that Grezzle,a graduate of the Lordran Academy humself, would know what he was talking about. The other man was impressed.

"I look forward to seeing how well your form four matches up to mine," he said. "Or your mothers, for that matter. She was always known for form four."

Traven didn't know that, but he made no mention of it. He would speak to his mother when he got home, and he was eager to add to the list of possible discussion topics. The drive continued in silence for a moment, before Traven decided to find out what was going on in Grezzle's life as a chauffeur for the Maleesta family. "Has anything interesting happened on the estate in my absence?"  
Yes, that was his way of asking how Grezzle's life was doing. Traven wasn't the best conversationalist, and he knew it, but Grezzle didn't seem to mind, grinning broadly and launching into a complete account of the comings and goings of Traven's family. Despite the number of things Grezzle found to speak about, Traven was able to discern that nothing overly important had happened, and he directed his gaze out the windows of the enclosed landspeeder, watching the scenery whip past the vehicle in a colorful blur. The sun was setting in the north, on the opposite side of the speeder, and it cast interesting shadows across the houses that were lined up all around Lordran. With a small smile, Traven settled further into his seat, impatient to finally be at home with his family once more.

* * *

The small Jedi shuttle exited hyperspace with a small shudder, the engines hissing with released pressure and humming softly as thrusters were engaged, pushing them closer to the gray orb that was the Echani homeworld. There were ships in orbit around the planet, sliding in and out of the orbiting space station and sending shuttles to the spaceport in Lordran, the planet's largest city. Greus and Sasha sat in the cockpit, maneuvering the shuttle into the large cloud of shuttles that were flitting around between the massive hulls of the superfreighters and Republic warships, but neither of them really knew what they were doing. Master Vandar, one of Greus' closest associates and a wise elder of the Order, had recommended they search out a Councilor Valyn Maleesta, saying that he had a history with the Order, and directed them to the city of Chezik, where the Maleesta estate presided over a large area of farmland.

Sasha didn't mind one way or another what city they went to, as long as they got out of the shuttle. She was tired of being crammed into only three rooms, one of which being the refresher, and was eager to get her feet on solid ground again.

"We should land in Lordran," she said. "We don't know if Chezik has a spaceport."

Greus looked over at his padawan and chuckled. "_You _may not know if Chezik has a spaceport, but I happen to know that it does. It's just never used because Lordran is where everyone does their business."

Sasha blinked, watching as her master lowered the shuttle into the atmosphere, clouds embracing them in white moisture before revealing the expansive landscapes of the simple agricultural world. There were many, many cities on the surface of Eshan, but it had much more fertile land than the Echani knew what to do with, making it one of the most important sources of food in the Republic, yet another reason why it was disconcerting that a disturbance had been felt on Eshan in particular. As the shuttle descended to the spaceport in Lordran, she couldn't help but wonder if they were too late to do anything about the disturbance. If what the masters said was true, and it was indeed centered around the upcoming vote, then they only had two days to find out what was going on and stop it.

The comm beeped on the dashboard of the shuttle, and Sasha tapped the button, listening as the Spaceport operator told them to halt and wait for an open berth. She sighed and looked to her master. "This might take awhile."

* * *

The sun was beginning to fall by the time that Traven and Grezzle reached Chezik, the landspeeder vibrating softly beneath their feet as it rushed over the slightly more uneven roads of the agricultural city. Traven watched as buildings gave way to fields of softly swaying wheat, taller than most men. The sun, red and tired, was shining across them, illuminating them with a mesmerizing shadow that caused a soft smile to twist Traven's lips as he watched the familiar scenery pass. That was when he saw it, perched on the top of a ridge with its swept wings glinting brightly in the sunlight, only the size of his thumb at this great distance. A shuttle was landed in the fields, large, sleek, very military. Traven's eyes narrowed and he suddenly became on edge, a feeling of dread rising up as he turned to the house that was quickly approaching them.

"Grezzle..." he said in warning, drawing the other man's attention to the shuttle that had been parked in the fields. The ex-commando's eyes narrowed when he caught sight of it, and he slowed the landspeeder as the estate came into view, tall, majestic, but with one small inconspicuous detail. The door was destroyed, blasted open by breaching charges, scorch marks spreading from the entryway in every direction. Grezzle slammed his foot onto the breaks when he saw this, and he was reaching for the speeder door when the transparisteel windshield shattered, throwing glass around the inside of the car as Traven ducked his head, closing his eyes as a crystalline shard sliced through his cheek.

Traven looked over to Grezzle, hoping to find the man already drawing his blaster, and froze, fear gripping his heart firmly in cold, spindly fingers. The ex-commando was slumped against the dash, blood pouring from a hole in the side of his head, created by the same blaster shot that had shattered the window. Traven felt bile rise in his throat as he pushed his door open, another blaster shot tearing through the seat behind him and filling the interior of the car with white stuffing. The dirt of the road rose up to meet Traven as he fell to the ground, waiting for the report of the blaster rifle before breaking off into the fields, listening to the shouts behind him. He didn't know what was happening, but he knew that there were men that were trying to kill him, and he knew that they might have already killed his family. The fields whipped past as he ran, searching for the bombardment shelter that his father had installed last year, but to no avail. The two men were gaining on him, judging from the volume of their shouts, and Traven knew that there was no time for him to search.

He turned in time to see the first of the two men approach, a blaster in his hand and a scowl on his face. The man was tall, with broad shoulders and a chiseled face, red hair and harsh gray eyes. He certainly wasn't Echani, and he wasn't military if his uniform was any indication. Time seemed to slow as the blaster raised, the man's fingers tensing as if to fire. Traven acted on instinct, two years of the best spec ops training in the Republic taking over as his left hand struck the wrist, driving the gun to the side as it went off, his right palm slamming hard into the man's throat. The second man was aiming his blaster at him, and Traven took hold of the first by the neck of his strapped leather armor, swinging him into the line of fire just as the blaster shot went off, causing the man in his arms to tense in pain. Using his left hand, Traven pulled the blaster free of his captive's limp fingers, throwing the body towards the second and bringing it up, remembering all of his training as he leveled the blaster and fired three times, all of them into the chest of the second attacker. Both of them fell to the ground, lifeless.

At the age of fifteen, Traven had killed his first sentient being.

'There's no time for remorse on the field. Do what you have to and move on,' Cherya's voice said in Traven's mind, a lesson that he had learned in his first year of the academy. The comm at the belt of one of his attackers beeped, and a voice filtered through.

"Hey Tyr, we need the brat alive, you hear? If you've killed him, you'll find yourself walking out the airlock," a gruff voice said, and Traven gritted his teeth. Did that mean that they were taking his family alive as well, or was it just him? He had no time to think on it as he started running back to the house, the blaster 's weight in his hands reassuring him as he broke out of the dense wheat fields to see a group of men, dressed in the same armor as the two that he had killed, carrying three struggling forms out of the house. Traven stopped when he saw them, hoping that his family didn't see him. If they did...

"Traven!" his mother's voice screamed as she was thrown unceremoniously into the back of a swoop bike. Traven swore softly as the men turned to him, lifting blasters. Traven didn't want to shoot at them, he might hit one of his siblings, but he had no choice as they opened fire blindly, peppering the ground around him. Traven returned fire, hoping to keep them on their toes so that they didn't have time to be accurate. It worked, and most of their shots whizzed harmlessly past him into the fields as he fell to a knee, taking the blaster in both hands and focusing on the men that weren't carrying his family. He heard his sister cry out in terror, screaming and begging for his mother, but he forced himself to ignore it as he began to fire once more, taking down one of the assailants with two shots to the chest before moving to the next. One of them pulled a blaster rifle from his back, and Traven knew that he couldn't stay out in the open for much longer. They were starting to zero in on his position.

Traven stood and sprinted over to the landspeeder that Grezzle was still slumped in, pulling the door open and using it as cover. Blaster shots whizzed all around him, singing the sleeve of his arm and throwing dust into the air. When it stopped, Traven stood, leveling the blaster and firing blindly. The man with the rifle was waiting however, firing the moment he saw Traven rise, but his arm was clipped as he pulled the trigger, throwing his aim off. The blast, instead of actually hitting Traven, simply grazed his arm, causing him to hiss in pain and fire with more determination. The swoop bikes roared to life as he took down the man with the blaster, switching his aim to the drivers as they zoomed off into the fields. Traven turned to the landspeeder beside him, reaching out to pull Grezzle from the driver's seat, but as he took hold of his friend's soft uniform, there was a thunderous boom, shaking the very ground that he stood on. Heat washed over him as a white ball of flames jumped into the sky where a house had once stood, throwing Traven to the dirt. He looked up in time to see a piece of wood falling towards him, unable to move before it struck, and the world sank into darkness.

* * *

Lordran wasn't far from Chezik at all, which is why Greus decided to land in Lordran instead of Chezik. If they were going to be investigating without any leads, it was better to be where all the people were instead of in an agricultural city with less than fifty-thousand residents. Lordran was close enough to Chezik for the shuttle to pick up an explosion on the sensors, causing lights to flicker on across the dash. Sasha blinked, calling out to Greus as she started to center the ship's sensors on the explosion, and her master immediately pulled their shuttle from the docking queue, rocketing off in the direction of the explosion. The angry ball of smoke was still rising when the shuttle came into view of Chezik's fields of wheat, flames tearing through the dry crops as law enforcement officials attempted to douse them, secondary explosions shaking the transparisteel windshield as what used to be the Maleesta estate was torn apart further from explosions in gas and electric lines.

Greus put the shuttle down next to the house, lowering the ramp even as he stood, rushing out of the vehicle to help the officers contain the fires in the fields. He paused at the foot of the durasteel boarding ramp, his eyes focused on the landspeeder sitting a hundred meters away from the explosion, windshield shattered and interior destroyed. There were two limp forms beside the speeder, and Sasha could sense that one of them was still alive.

"Force," Greus swore, rushing to the speeder and pulling the live Echani man from beneath his dead companion, wincing when he saw the large wooden splinter that had stabbed through his shoulder, and the blood that was running down the side of his face. "Sasha!"

The padawan rushed to her master's aid, helping him lift the boy and move him to the boarding ramp of the shuttle. When the law enforcement arrived and saw the two Jedi, they looked relieved, immediately heading into the burning wreckage of the house to check for survivors. Greus, on the other hand,was shaking his head.

"We can't treat this on the shuttle," he said. "Do they have paramedics nearby?"

Sasha spotted the vehicle that Greus was searching for and rushed off without another word, hoping that they had been fast enough to save the young man from his injuries.

* * *

"Where is the fourth?" Vyrin asked the moment he saw his men stepping out of the shuttle, carrying the now limp forms of the Echani family. The leader of the squad was nowhere to be found, so Vyrin looked to the second man that he'd put in charge, a burly fellow named Greth. He shook his head in resignation.

"The boy?" he said. "No one said 'e was a bloody commando. Killed four o' us 'e did."

Four? A boy of fifteen killed four of his best men? Vyrin blinked in surprise as the remaining men in the squad gathered in front of him, all of them looking disheveled from the panic on the surface. The_ Ruthless _had picked up the explosion, so he knew that one part of the mission had been a success, at least. All that remained was to take the necessary footage and send it to that damn councilor, and he could wash his hands of this bloody business.

But first, to deal with his incompetent underlings. "How did he get a blaster?"

"Two o' us chased him out into the fields, where he killed 'em and took a blaster. A damn good shot with that thing, 'e was," Greth said gruffly.

Vyrin was shaking his head, fingers twitching towards the pistols at his belt as rage started to course through him. He was famous for his temper, and all four of the remaining men from the ground team were starting to look at each other nervously. "It wasn' our fault!"

"Wasn't it?" Vyrin said, drawing his blaster. Four shots later, the inept members of his crew were lying on the deck of the hangar, pools of blood spreading from their blaster wounds. Vyrin didn't even wrinkle his nose as he turned to his second in command. "Airlock."

The man nodded and did as he was told.


	3. Part 1 Chapter 3

A/N: And I'm back. If anyone is curious, I plan on writing as often as possible and updating every day, or every other day, depending on what happens. I have a lot of obligations starting up fairly soon, and will only be able to update sparsely for the next two weeks, then school starts. During the school year I hope to update twice a week. It might be wishful thinking, but I'll try.

Chapter 2

Greus sat in the lounge of the hospital's observation platform for the operation room, watching the doctors work furiously below to take the large wooden spike out of the boy's arm. He wondered if he should even call him a boy, considering that he was fifteen years old and had killed four men only a few hours ago, but Greus decided that it would have to do. Until he knew the kid's name, then he would be a boy to Greus. There was something about him...something that Greus couldn't quite put his finger on. That put him on edge, alone, but that coupled with the fact that Greus believed the boy to be responsible for at least four of the deaths at the estate, and that he was the only one within a kilometer of the explosion to survive, made Greus think that there was a greater power watching over him. Perhaps his destiny was larger than what he was able to foresee; he never had been that much of a Master in the ways of the Unifying Force. Just in case it was something significant, Greus had asked the hospital to do a test for midichlorians on the boy and, despite their initial confusion, they had agreed to do so.

There was something fishy about this whole ordeal. Neither Sasha nor Greus were able to figure out anything of important at the estate ruins, and the local law enforcement had come up empty as well when they did DNA searches on the bodies that had been found. Seven guards, killed by blaster fire before the explosion, and four unknowns, their DNA not in the Eshan database. It wasn't surprising that the perpetrators of the crime were from offworld, but it _was _somewhat disconcerting that all of the unidentified corpses were killed by the blaster that had been found near the Echani boy, one of the residents of the estate. That meant that the assailants had killed all the guards without casualties, only to fall victim to the wrath of a fifteen year-old boy with a stolen blaster and lose four men. One of the Maleesta boys was training to be a guard for the Council at the Lordran Academy—the officers investigating had heard of him—but that didn't seem like enough to explain the fact that he was able to fight off so many attackers long enough for them to retreat and blow up the house. Yes...there must be something special about the boy.

Sasha, sitting beside her master in the observation room, stood and stretched, tired after a long day of sitting in the shuttle and finding wounded Echani boys outside of blast zones, and she gave her master a pointed look. "Shouldn't we report to Master Vandar and find a place to stay?"

"Not until the midichlorian count comes back," Greus said. "They took the sample on the way here, it shouldn't be long now."

Sasha blinked. "Can't you tell if he's Force Sensitive by looking into his mind?"

Greus smirked and shook his head. He was sure that he could, but he didn't want to violate the boy's sanctity like that, not when there was a much easier solution. He was already bleeding, and all it took was one drop to figure out how many midichlorians were in his blood. As he was about to tell this to Sasha, however, the doors to the observation room opened and a doctor stepped in, flanked by a hardened-looking woman with icy silver eyes.

"We did the test for the unknown agent in the boy," the doctor said, looking down as the surgeons finished up their work and sewed the wound shut. It would be completely healed in eight hours or so, with the help of kolto injections. The cut on his face had already healed, leaving only a thin white scar in its place. "We estimated that there were eleven thousand of these agents per liter."

Greus blinked. That wasn't the largest number that he had ever heard, but it was up there. Master Vash, one of his former students, had twelve thousand per liter, and he himself only had ten. "Thank you," he said after a moment. "Who is this?"  
The woman, having been silent up to this point, stepped forward and pointed a finger at Greus. "I'm his mentor at the Academy, Jedi," she said briskly. Her head turned briefly to look down at her student, still lying unconscious on the operating table. When her gaze returned to Greus, it was filled with fire. "And I want to know exactly what happened to him. Now."

Sasha blinked, but her Master was only smiling in the face of this woman's stern handling. He gestured for her to take a seat and launched into an explanation of how it seemed like his family was the target of an elaborate kidnapping, meant to look like an attempted assassination of the Councilor Valyn Maleesta. When he got to the part where Traven had fought against the assailants in a firefight, taking down four of them before the explosion knocking him unconscious, the woman smiled broadly, whispering something unintelligible. When the Jedi Master was finished, she nodded her head, watching as Traven was moved from the operating room to his own place in the ICU. The hospital wasn't particularly busy at the moment, and they were very focused on saving the life of their Councilor's son.

"My name's Cherya, by the way," she said when Greus finished, holding her hand out. Greus took it and shook firmly, watching as Sasha greeted the woman as well. "I assume that you'll be looking into this?"

"Truth be told," Greus said "I don't know what else we can do until he wakes up. With the vote coming up in two days..."

"Tomorrow," she corrected. "It's past midnight."

Sasha gave her master a glare at this, but he ignored her pointedly, simply shrugging his massive shoulders. "I'll tell my Master what we know thus far," he said. "And we'll see what the boy has to say about all this. His father should have been notified when his estate was destroyed, and he should be contacting us when he receives the message."  
Cherya nodded. "What was that test you asked the doctors to do?"

Greus shifted uncomfortably for a moment. "A midichlorian count," he said. "It tells whether a person is Force Sensitive or not."

Cherya waited expectantly, silently asking the question 'well, is he?' With a heavy sigh, Greus decided it would be best to be forthright with this woman. They didn't know if they would need her help in the future. "Yes," he said at long last. "He is very sensitive."

Cherya nodded, pleased with his answer. "That explains a few things," she said.

Greus didn't ask what she meant, more focused on getting out of the hospital and contacting Master Vandar than the current conversation. As such, he stood, taking Sasha's arm and saying his farewell to Cherya. He wondered briefly why a mentor form the Academy would come to a completely different academy to see a student, but decided that there were more important things to worry about than the lives of a mentor and student. He just hoped that the hotels were still open at this time of night.

* * *

"Found something, have you?" Master Vandar asked, his holographic form flickering slightly on Greus' wrist as he spoke, his long, pointed ears perking up with curiosity.

"The Maleesta estate was attacked yesterday evening," Greus said. "We don't know who did it, or why, but it seems as if the entire family was taken except for the eldest child and the Father."

Vandar blinked, nodding his head slightly as he contemplated this. Greus and Sasha had found a hotel right next to the hospital that gave them a room, offering it at o cost due to their Jedi status. Greus paid for it anyway, not feeling entirely comfortable with taking charity simply because he was a Jedi, and had promptly contacted Vandar. Sasha was already asleep as far as he could tell, and he was sitting in the corner of the room, speaking in hushed tones so as not to disturb his padawan.

"Disturbing, this is," Vandar said. "The eldest child, you say? Spoken with him have you?"

"No, Master," Greus said. "He was injured in the attack, after killing four of the assailants. We took him to the hospital, where I had his blood tested on a hunch. The boy's midichlorian count is very high, Master. Eleven thousand, the doctors said."  
Once again, Vandar bobbed his head, deep in thought. "Opinions, have you, about this attack?"

"I think that it is an attempt to force Valyn to vote a certain way in the vote tomorrow," he said, having already prepared an answer for this very question. "Unless Valyn has many enemies, and the motive was spite, there doesn't seem to be any other feasible reason for this attack."

"Make enemies, Valyn does not," Master Vandar said. "If this is the case, allow it to happen, I advise. Track down the councilor responsible by staying in touch with Valyn, I will. Head to the capital with the boy, you must."

"The boy, Master?" Greus asked.

"It is his family that is in peril. Deserves the truth, Traven does," Vandar said in explanation, and Greus nodded. He just hoped that he was released from the hospital before the vote, or they wouldn't have very much time to do investigations.

* * *

The capital city of Eshan, a beautiful place called Earatha, glittered brightly under the darkness of the night sky, the stars obscured by the planets perpetual cloud cover, revealed only by the bright lights shining from the city down below. The city was busy, even at night, with speeders and shuttles flitting between the towering skyscrapers and squat political buildings, the lights lining the wide streets illuminating the way for the few pedestrians that remained at this time of the morning. Life in the city never slept, even at three o'clock in the morning, but it was definitely more subdued than usual. One skyscraper, near the center of the city, was known world-wide as the most luxurious place a person could stay while in Earatha. Despite its heavily political background, it made it a priority to make all of their patrons' stay glorious, especially the ones that happened to be Councilors.

Councilor Maleesta rarely spent the night in the capital, but with the vote so close, it had been his only choice. And so, he had decided to stay at Echani Fluorescence. It was expensive, as all luxurious places were, but he felt that the heavenly bed and the view was worth it, if only to relieve a bit of the stress that surrounded the vote. He had been sleeping well, dropping like a rock around ten o'clock and not waking until the frantic buzzing and beeping of his communicator startled him awake, rubbing his eyes groggily as he picked up the small, palm-sized device.

There was a selection of people that he expected to see appear on the surface of the device, bu the Jedi Master that he had met all those years prior was not one of them. When the squat little Master flickered into existence, the hologram looking tired itself, Valyn rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, wondering if he was just dreaming. "Vandar?" he asked tiredly.

"Sorry to have awakened you, but dire news there is," he said.

Dire? Why did it have to be so kriffing early in the morning, then? "What do you mean?"

The little image that was being projected from the communicator looked regretful, if that was at all possible, and when it spoke, Valyn knew that he must be having some kind of dream. Nay, some kind of nightmare. "Attacked, your estate was. Destroyed. Your family was taken by unknown attackers. "

"Wait," Valyn said, pinching the bridge of his nose. He had been awakened with dire news before, but never by a Jedi, and an attack on a Councilor's estate, even if he was just in the Lower Council, was unheard of. No Echani would do such a thing. "Attacked? When?"

"Calm, you must be," Vandar said. "Earlier in the evening it was. Two Jedi are investigating currently, they will come to the capital tomorrow. Finding the person responsible is the reason why I called."

Valyn's mind was reeling. His family was taken, estate destroyed? His imagination began to run rampant in his head, throwing images of his struggling wife and children being dragged off as the estate crumbled in flames. He suddenly had a pounding headache. "What would you have me do?"

* * *

Greus and Sasha hadn't been able to sleep very well, but when they finally managed to drag themselves out of bed near nine o'clock, Traven was awake and in kolto treatment. When Sasha and Greus had entered the hospital, they looked very glad to see the two Jedi, sitting them down in the waiting area and spouting out endless streams of useless information about his wound and how it was healing. In short, it was doing fine, and Traven would come speak with them in about an hour. There were certain things that the nurses ad doctors said, however, that caused Greus to become suspicious of what was happening in the capital.

They said that they had received no response from the Councilor regarding his son's injuries. Now, Greus wasn't a father, but he knew that if he did have a child, the first thing that he would do upon hearing that his boy had been nearly killed in an attack on his estate was check on his condition, but there had been nothing. Greus didn't think that any friend of Vandar's would be callous enough to ignore his son's suffering, so that meant that he hadn't received the message, or he hadn't had time to look at his communicator yet.

Sasha, seeing her master deep in thought, decided to add her two-cents to the situation. "If I was the councilor that hired the thugs," she said, ignoring Greus' sharp look at her saying such things so loud. "Then I wouldn't want the person I was trying to coerce to know that one of his family members was still alive and out of custody."

"Vandar spoke with him," Greus said. "Surely he would have told the man that his son was injured. Why wouldn't he respond?"

Sasha groaned at her master's inability to think like a criminal mastermind. Maybe that was a good thing. "If Councilor Maleesta does know, he can't let the person that instigated the attack know by sending a message to Traven when he never received the missive from the hospital. Despite the ache that t might put on Traven, it is necessary for Valyn to a least act like he is unaware of his son's survival."

Greus looked down at his apprentice, unsure whether to be proud or disturbed that she was so smart when it came o these things. Instead of saying anything, he simply shook his head, looking down at the communicator in his hand to see what time it was. They didn't have much more than a day before the vote, but Greus was confident that Vandar knew what he was doing. The person behind the attack would have to contact Valyn eventually to state his demands, and when he did, the Jedi would be able to track the message back to him. There were many things that could go wrong, though. The message could be encrypted, or it could delete itself after it was played back. The voice would probably be distorted, making vocal recognition impossible, and the computer it was sent from would most likely be from a library or electronic cafe. Tracking the message through cyberspace would take too long, and they would be too late, especially if the man responsible was actually somewhat intelligent and had someone cover his electronic tracks.

Greus was so engrossed in his musings that he didn't even see the boy walk through the doors of the hospital's kolto bay and turn to the two Jedi, face impassive and silver eyes taking in every detail of their apparel. They lingered a bit longer on Sasha than they did on Greus, causing the young woman to fidget slightly as he approached. When he was standing in front of them, he smiled wanly.

"I suppose that I should thank you," he said after a moment, eyes meeting both of the Jedi's own before he sighed. "I don't know how helpful I will be, though."

Greus smiled and put his hand on Traven's left shoulder, avoiding the wounded one just in case it wasn't healed yet. "We're investigating the attack. Soon, we should have the person responsible, and the location of your family."

"The attackers weren't Echani," Traven said. "From their uniform, I could tell that they were dressed to look like ordinary thugs, but they had a chain of command, and they acted with precision. The doctors told me that I've bee unconscious for awhile, and I know that whoever took them is probably far away from Eshan by now. I've been taught enough to know that you don't linger around the crime scene if you're guilty."

The stark logic in the young man's statement surprised Greus. He had expected the teenager to be a little bit more emotional, perhaps broken up about the kidnapping of his family, and he could see pain glittering in the twin silvery orbs that were Traven's eyes, but he stood with his back straight and chin held level, showing no signs of that pain and loss. Greus could see that he had indeed been trained well by the Academy, for only a military hardness could allow someone to maintain such control in the face of powerful emotions like loss and agony.

"What you say is true," Greus said. "But our main concern right now is finding the one that is responsible. If we take him, perhaps he will tell us the location of your family."

"Or he could just have them all killed," Traven said, the pain in his eyes intensifying. "If he knows that Jedi are investigating him, then he'll get desperate."  
Sasha was the one that spoke next, standing and stretching her tired muscles with a groan. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that," she said. "Has the hospital released you? We are needed at the capital."

Traven looked at Sasha for a moment, staring into her emerald eyes before shaking his head. "I will go talk to my doctor," he said. "Will I be coming with you?"

Greus nodded, and Traven turned to go find his surgeon. He wasn't nuts about going to the capital, but he wanted nothing more than to see the one that had hired those thugs to take his family rot in a cell. Well...he would have preferred to simply have him shot, but he knew Jedi and their tendency towards mercy. With a sigh, Traven shook his head, knowing in his heart that this wouldn't end well. He could feel it.


	4. Part 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 3

"I want you to eliminate the hostages and send the footage of the executions to this address. If you refuse or do not send the footage, I will give the Jedi investigating the explosion at the estate your ship's ID number," the councilor said, watching the hologram of the slaver carefully. The man's face was twisting into a scowl, but the Councilor merely smiled at him.

"You're disgusting," the slaver said. It was amusing to think that someone as low as a slaver was calling _him _disgusting, but perhaps that was what made the insult so scathing. The councilor had no visible reaction to the words, but inside he was seething with rage, watching the hologram carefully.

After a moment he spoke. "Will you do as I ask?"

"Yes," the slaver said at long last, looking pained at the words. It was indeed painful to lose almost a million credits worth of merchandise, the councilor thought, but he couldn't allow the loose ends to remain alive. Besides, the footage of their death would be very handy in breaking the Chezik councilor.

Without a word, he cut the connection to the slaver ship, leaning back in his chair and folding his hands over his lap. He would approach Valyn before the vote, in person, and threaten him. He knew that there were Jedi investigating, and that Valyn would most likely tell the Jedi immediately, but the threat of death was always a good motivator in these scenarios. Valyn would do as he said, and he would do it silently. A smile spread across the councilor's face as he imagined it in his head. This was going to be glorious.

It was then that he remembered the _other _thing that the slaver captain had told him. With an annoyed sigh, he lifted his handheld communicator to his face and contacted his agent, watching as the man appeared before him. "Yes?" the man asked, and the councilor smiled coldly.

"One of the Maleesta children wasn't taken in the attack. Find him, and make sure that he remains quiet. Any companions that are with him are expendable." he said.

"It will be done."

The councilor knew that he would be staying with the Jedi. If the Jedi were smart, they wouldn't let him out of their sight, but if they were attacked, it would certainly consume most of their attention for awhile. Even if his agent did fail, it would hopefully give them a false lead to follow until its inevitable dead-end. Perhaps it would delay them long enough for him to cover his tracks more...thoroughly.

* * *

It took longer than Greus would like to get Traven released from the hospital, and by the time they were in a shuttle and flying towards the capital, it was already almost noon. It was only a thirty minute flight to get to Earatha, so they would indeed reach the capital in time for Greus to do some minor investigations. Namely, he would be looking into the missing transmission between the hospital and Councilor Maleesta, but that could wait until after they had gotten into contact with Vandar. With that, Greus left the piloting of the shuttle to his padawan, sitting cross-legged in the back of the small shuttle and falling into meditation.

Traven was sitting in the cockpit of the old, civilian shuttle, watching the clouds give way and reveal the clear blue sky above, the red sun shining down upon them with gentle warmth. It was very quiet in the shuttle, with only the hum of powerful engines to fill the silence, but Traven didn't mind. He preferred silence when he could get it; it lent a perspective on thoughts that could rarely be achieved elsewhere. Eventually, however, he was drawn to speak with the red-haired woman at the controls, looking over at her and watching her face as she worked. He had never seen such beautiful eyes before, having lived with Echani, who all had silver eyes, and it was intriguing to him. These green eyes flicked over to him, and one elegant eyebrow raised.

"What's up?" the Jedi asked him. Traven blinked, before blushing slightly and looking away.

"Just thinking," he said quietly. The Jedi didn't seem at all convinced, but she let it go. Eventually, however, he spoke again. "Thanks again, for pulling me out of the fire."

The Jedi chuckled, the sound light and musical. It made Traven grin. "You weren't actually in the fire," she said. "The explosion wasn't that big. It caught the crops on fire, though, which was why the entire city's law enforcement was there to help contain it."

That made sense. It hadn't rained in several weeks, to his knowledge, and the wheat was known to get very dry during the common droughts of Eshan. "I hope there was no lasting damage."

"Besides the entire mansion?" the Jedi said, laughing lightly. "No, there wasn't. I was actually wanting to ask you if you were alright. What with this whole ordeal..."

Traven blinked. The only people that ever asked him outright if he was alright were his mother and his sister. Cherya never had to ask, she just knew, and his father was never around long enough to ask. He didn't even know this Jedi's name, and yet she was asking how he was. It fit the image of Jedi that he had held since he could remember, but it was still surprising. "I'm just tired," Traven answered neutrally, knowing that his answer held multiple meanings. The Jedi seemed to know this a well, but she didn't say anything. Her fingers caught his surreptitious stroking of the scar on his cheek. "What's your name?"

She started at his question, looking over at him with wide eyes. "I can't believe we never told you!" she exclaimed. Traven didn't mind much, he thought, as long as she kept her eyes where he could see them. "I'm Sasha. The Jedi with me is my master, Greus."

Sasha. Traven smiled. "I'm Traven," he said in response. Sasha smiled at him and ducked her head.

"Nice to meet you, though I wish it was under better circumstances," she said.

Traven nodded his head, tearing his eyes away from her face and looking out at the clouds that were slowly sliding beneath the shuttle. Once again, silence filled the shuttle, but it was companionable silence. Traven wondered briefly what kind of person Sasha was, and he was anxious t see her fight someone, but he knew that it probably would not happen. He would have to offer it himself if he wanted to see, and he didn't want to be so forward about his interest. He had never been one to be blunt about that sort of thing, not with the women a the Academy, and not with this Jedi. He was Echani, after all, and if there was one thing that they were known for as a species it was being overly subtle about things. They were very direct when they fought with you, but very indirect in every other endeavor, a fact that Traven at once admired and hated about his own people. There was something to be said about being frank, even if it was often viewed as rude.

"I do not think that I will be able to see my father when we reach the capital. It would not be wise to reveal to the person behind this all that I am alive," he said at long last. "It would force them to act sooner than they would like, and put my family in danger. Making the one that holds all the power in this situation desperate is a bad decision."

"What would you suggest?" Sasha asked, and Traven smiled. At least the Jedi knew that two years of training at the best academy in the republic made one a valuable source of intelligence in many different situations.

"Make him feel in control like it's all going as planned, then throw it into his face," Traven said. "Though I'm sure that you both have a plan."

Sasha nodded her head. "Master Vandar contacted your father last night. We hope that once the man responsible confronts your father to give his demands, we can either find out who he is from your father or track him down electronically. That is why we need to be in the capital today."  
It was a sound plan from Traven's point of view, but it had risks. Especially if the man didn't confront his father outright, or if he threatened his father with the lives of his family. Traven had no doubt that his father would do anything to ensure his mother's safety, even if it meant lying to a Jedi and going along with the demands of the man responsible. He didn't tell the Jedi that, however, knowing that there was nothing they could do besides hope that his father made the right decision. The feeling that something was about to go very wrong settled once more in Traven's gut, and he stared out of the transparisteel windshield, watching as the towering buildings of the capital came into view, poking out of the clouds like twisting needle of metal. Sasha began to lower them towards the city's shuttle parking, and when the clouds parted to reveal the sprawling metropolis that was Earatha, Traven smiled.

* * *

Once the shuttle was landed, Greus contacted Master Vandar on his communicator, surprised to discover that his Master hadn't told Valyn about his son's wound or even that he hadn't been taken by the attackers. Vandar said that they should find a place to stay and that Greus should find a console to begin his electronic searches, but what surprised Greus even more was the Master's final words to him as they started to walk towards the nearest hotel.

"Bad feeling I have," Vandar had said. "Keep watch over Traven. Too late, we may be."

Greus could sense that Sasha and Traven were getting along fairly well, and that would allow him to leave them to their own devices in the hotel while he searched cyberspace for the missing message. If he could find where the hospital's transmission had gone instead of the Councilor's office, then it might lead him to the person that was blocking communications with Valyn. That person would, in turn, lead him to the councilor responsible for the attack, but he didn't have much time, especially if he was going to track down someone in Earatha. Greus was beginning to have a bad feeling about this, a subtle ripple in the Force that told him something wasn't going as planned, but he shrugged it off, checking them into the hotel and taking both of the teenager to the room.

"Stay here," he said. "I'll be back before dark. Feel free to get something to eat while I'm gone."

Sasha was not satisfied with babysitting while her Master ran off to do all the real work, but she resigned to her job when Greus gave her a harsh glare. He could tell that she was probably not going to just sit still while he was gone, simply from the defiance that he was feeling through their training bond, but he could hope, couldn't he. When the door to the apartment closed and Greus went to find a computer with suitable speed, the bad feeling that he had felt earlier intensified to an almost dull ache in his chest. Something very bad had just happened, and it was killing him that he didn't know what.

Greus' hands danced across the keys of the computer, manipulating it in ways that the average user didn't even know existed to pull the missing transmission from the hospital out of the depths of cyberspace. So far, after three hours of grueling work on this dumb machine, he hadn't had any luck, but he had just found evidence of an intercept order from another console in the area, and he was working on bypassing that very computers security to check its logs. Messages don't simply disappear, and if they are deleted, the there is a copy of it somewhere. One of the laws of cyberspace was that things are never actually gone, no matter how many machines you delete them from, because computers worked by making temporary copies and storing them in hidden files, passing messages around between the network through complicated server coding, communicating with each other and making more copies. The more computers that a message passes through, the more copies are made, especially on computers that are being run by servers.

The server of the computer that had blocked the message had copied it onto several different computers as a subroutine, hiding it in the massive temporary storage. Despite the fact that the person who had blocked the message had deleted it from his console, the message was still in the memory of the server itself, as well as several other consoles that were tied to it. The message wasn't specifically what Greus was looking for, but when he found it and identified the computer that it was meant to go to, he was able to tell that the message had been rerouted to another computer in the same network. Greus face paled when he realized that whoever was responsible for the attack knew that Traven was alive. Leaving the electronic search behind, Greus stood and ran, knowing that there was a good chance that he was sending people to finish the job.

* * *

Traven and Sasha had only been sitting in the hotel for about an hour when Sasha knew something was wrong. She didn't quite know what, but she felt it in her chest that something was about to go very wrong very quick. Originally when she had been told to stay at the hotel, she had planned on taking Traven and doing a little bit of investigation on their own, but the Echani boy had promptly fallen asleep the moment he hit the bed, effectively dashing all of her plans to liven things up. As a result, she had simply sat at the desk, thinking over what was happening in her head. There was something wrong about this whole scenario, something that she couldn't place.

That was when she heard it, he soft humming that was coming from the hallway. Looking up, she blinked and focused her eyes on the door, narrowing them when the noise started rising in pitch. She'd heard that noise before, but she just couldn't remember where...

An automated lock breaker. Someone was breaking into the room.

Instantly, Sasha was on her feet, taking Traven by the back of his shirt and pulling him out of bed, clamping a hand over his mouth and whispering sharply into his ear. "Stay low. Someone's breaking in."

The boy nodded, staying close to the wall as Sasha pulled her lightsaber off her belt. Whoever was breaking into the room obviously didn't know that there was a Jedi inside, or they wouldn't be trying such an obvious approach at things. The lock on the door clicked quietly, and the panel turned color. Sasha held her breath, the door hissing open and the sound of a soft metal item hitting the ground filled her ears. Something small and cylindrical rolled past her, and Sasha's eyes widened, watching as Traven threw himself in front of her just as the grenade went off, blinding them both with harsh white light and filling the room with a noxious gas. Sasha staggered through the cloud, trying to figure out what was going on as a figure, tall, broad, stepped through, wearing a gas mask that concealed his face. Sasha attempted to bring her saber up, looking down at Traven's limp form, but the gas was working on her already, and her eyes started to close.

The last thing she saw when she fell were the man's black boots.

A/N: Sorry for the short chapter. Things are picking up, though!


	5. Part 1 Chapter 5

A/N: As an apology for the shorter chapter last time, here's a doozy. Enjoy!

(If you haven't figured it out yet, I like chapters around 3500 words.)

If you have any questions as to why I update so frequently or why I've rewritten this three times already, then feel free to PM me or post a comment. I will reply very quickly to a PM, I assure you, but not to reviews.

Chapter 4

It was finally the day of the vote. There were some on the Council, like Valyn, who had felt as if the day would never come, the constant bickering and tension in the chamber making it seem as if every one of the Councilors was at war with one another. As Councilor Maleesta made his way to his office, mentally preparing himself for what was going to be a very long day in the council chambers, he couldn't help but wonder what would happen to his family. He should have hired more security. He was a councilor, after all, it shouldn't have been s hard to foresee this happening, but he didn't. And now that it has happened, Valyn didn't know what to do. He hadn't slept the night before, and it was visible on his face, dark bags beneath his tired, defeated eyes, and his usually serene face looked especially worn as he entered his office.

The vote wasn't to take place for another three hours, and Valyn was willing to do just about anything to get his mind off of his abducted family. He had just sat down in his desk when the door opened and he looked up, expecting it to be Fraya, his personal assistant, but starting in surprise when he saw the one councilor that he wanted nothing to do with. Councilor Meethle. Since all Echani look very similar, it was hard to tell by simply watching him that there was anything wrong, but if you were as good at reading people as Valyn was, you could tell that he was a very shady character by the way that he held himself, eyes flitting around the office, shoulders tilted ever so slightly away from Valyn. As the other councilor sat across from him, settling into the comfortable chairs of his office, a cold feeling of dread settled in Valyn's gut.

"Hello," Valyn said neutrally, watching the other man situate himself, pulling a datapad from the folds of his thick white robes. The small device clicked as it was set carefully on his desk and slid forward. With shaking hands, Valyn took the datapad and engaged the program, watching as a video began to play, recorded with a cheap device, of his family, chained and bound to the walls of some freighter's cargo hold.

"Greetings," Meethle said. "I"m sure that you are aware of what happened two nights ago at your estate. You have my...most sincere condolences, Councilor."

Valyn was sure that Meethle was the one that hired the thugs to take his family, and his face hardened. He was tempted to leap across the desk and beat the man to a pulp, but that was unbecoming of a Coucilor, and it would do nothing to save his family. "Why are you here, Councilor?"

"I am here to warn you, Valyn. I can call you Valyn, right?" Meethle asked. At the scowl, he shrugged. "I would hate for anything...unsavory to happen to your family."

Valyn knew a threat when he heard one, and his face immediately lost its scowl and fell into a stony, unreadable expression, folding his hands on the desk in front of him and turning the datapad off. "Warn me of what?"

"The vote today. Your district wants you to vote for the consumption tax, but I've come to alert you to the fact that there are many people that won't take too kindly to that. I would recommend voting the other way, for the sake of your family," Meethle said smoothly. Valyn felt sick. As the other councilor stood, leaving the datapad with Valyn, he suddenly turned, as if forgetting something. "Oh! And if you tell anyone about this...I fear that your family will suffer the consequences. They have ears everywhere."

When Meethle was gone, Valyn redirected his gaze to the datapad, watching the blank screen for a long time. Finally, with a shout of anger, he picked it up and hurled it across the room, falling forward over his desk as tears finally came, closing his eyes against the turmoil in his mind. He reached into a pocket of his robe, pulling his communicator out and poising to contact master Vandar, but he stopped, remembering Meethle's last words. If he told Vandar, would his family even be alive long enough for the Jedi to save them? He doubted it. After what seemed like hours, he lowered the communicator, letting it slip from his hands and clatter to the desk, staring aimlessly at the door of his room. What was there to do? He would vote against his own populace, losing all reputation as an honorable senator and Echani man, likely being voted out of office within the month, but if it was for his family...his wife...then it was worth it.

* * *

Traven opened his eyes slowly, only to close them again at the harsh light that burst through the small slit between his eyelids. He attempted to reach up and shield his eyes, but found that his hands were bound snugly behind him with cloth strips, and he was sporting a pounding headache to boot. When Traven finally managed to wake up fully, he looked to his left and saw Sasha slumped to the side, hands similarly bound behind her back. He remembered jumping in front of her when he had seen the grenade, taking the brunt of the flash and immediately losing consciousness. He assumed that she was either overpowered or inhaled too much of the gas that flash grenades also threw off. Whatever he had been expecting when Sasha had told him that someone was breaking into the apartment, it had certainly not been a grenade, which was why he hadn't recognized what type it was before jumping in front of the Jedi padawan. If he had known it was a flasher, he could have pushed them both away from it to shield their bodies from the light and shock wave, but as it stood, he had taken both things right to the chest, and Sasha had been incapacitated shortly afterward.

They were in a small room, with no windows and no furnishings, rough durasteel walls indicating that it was a place where people weren't supposed to live, but the floors had a rough gray carpeting on them, which was strange for a warehouse or dockyard. Traven figured that the warehouse had been converted to an apartment building or cheap hotel, and the person that had taken them was staying there, using one of the rooms in his suite as a cell. Unfortunately, there were plenty of warehouses like this one that were vacant, lying on the outskirts of the city where no one paid any attention to them. With a groan, Traven pulled himself upright, sitting against the wall and tugging at his bonds, using his hands to search for any weaknesses in the knots that had been tied, just like he had been taught int eh academy. If the bonds weren't military style, he would be able to get out of them, given enough time, but it looked as if the person that had taken them was trained fairly well, as the bonds were not only tied in several different places to confuse him, there were also more than one.

After several minutes of working futilely on the bonds, he groaned and gave up, knowing that it would take him hours to work his way free from them, and he looked over at his Jedi companion, watching the steady rise and fall of her breath. He hoped that she woke up soon, or they would both be in a little bit of trouble. Of course, the man that took them obviously didn't want them dead, or he would have killed them already, so Traven could only imagine that he was waiting for them to wake up. He didn't know why anyone would want to question him, but t worked in his favor. Eventually, Sasha's brilliant green eyes opened slowly, squinting against the bright light of their makeshift cell as she used her elbows to sit up.

There was a bright floodlight next to the door, making it impossible to look in that direction without closed eyes, and the light from that floodlight was reflecting off the walls. Sasha groaned, using her elbow to sit up and looking around the room, eyes landing on Traven, who was watching her closely.

"Are you wounded?" he asked in a rush, eyes scanning her body briefly for any blood.

She shook her head, no. That was something. "Are you?"

"I'm fine," Traven said, turning his head briefly to look at the door, only to sap his eyes shut and hiss in annoyance. "Stupid floodlight," he muttered, bowing his head.

"Do you know how long we've bee out?" Sasha asked, scooting carefully across their cell. If she could get close enough, then she could untie his bonds.

Traven noticed her movement and shook his head slightly. "He's probably watching," he whispered. "The grenade he used looked like a standard issue flasher, so I'd bet we were out at least forty minutes."

"How could you tell that just by looking at it?" Sasha asked, amazed. Traven shrugged.

"You learn things at the military academy. Don't they teach you Jedi how to fight or something in your temple?" Traven asked her teasingly. Sasha huffed.

"He was big," she said in response. "And I was blinded by the flash."

"Of course," Traven said, chuckling. They waited for several minutes, both of them staring at the ground and lsitening closely for the sound of footsteps. Eventually, Traven decided that they might as well try to escape. There was nothing better to do, anyway. "Can you use the Force to untie my bonds?"

Sasha looked uncertain, biting her lip. After a moment she shrugged. "Maybe..."

"You have to try," he said quietly. "I don't really have any other plans right now, he tied my bonds too tightly."

Sasha scrunched her face up in concentration as she tried to break Traven's bonds with the Force, but found that, not only was it much too precise of a thing to do with the Force, it was also incredibly taxing. After awhile, she sighed and leaned back against the wall, shaking her head. "Won't work," she informed him, looking around the room for anything that could be used to cut his bonds. The person that had taken them had done a good job of making sure that they couldn't escape the room.

Both of the teenagers simply sat where they were for a moment more, lost, before Traven looked over at her. "The floodlight. Can you break the covering?"

That wouldn't be too hard, Sasha thought as she focused on the covering of the light, funneling energy into it with the Force until it shattered, transparisteel shards falling to the floor. The noise was raucous, but she knew what Traven was trying to do. Hurriedly, she picked up a dagger-sized piece of transparisteel and threw it to Traven with the Force, watching as he grabbed it and began working on his bonds, sawing back and forth furiously.

The door to their small room opened and the tall figure that had attacked them stepped into the room, shrouded in light from the floodlight as his boots crunched on the transparisteel shards. He looked down and swore softly, muttering about stupid manufacturing companies and their horrible products, but when his masked face turned back to the two captives, both of them couldn't help but swallow nervously. Traven finished cutting through the first of three separate bonds, the tension on his arms releasing slightly as he began work on the second one, moving mush faster this time, but still focusing on keeping his arms still. The masked man turned the floodlight off, allowing both his captives a respite from the burning light, and they could tell that he was scrutinizing both of them, watching what they were doing closely. All the shards from the broken floodlight cover were on the ground by his feet, though, and none of them were remotely close to the two captives. After awhile, he spoke, taunting them as he stepped closer. Traven finished cutting his second bond.

"So," the figure said. "Which one of you is the Maleesta kid?"

Neither of them spoke, knowing that the moment they told him, he would have no need for the other. Traven's eyes glanced to Sasha with worry, but her face was held completely passive. The agent was sharp, and caught the flicker of his eyes before Traven could slide an expressionless face on again.

"Is it her?" he asked, kicking Sasha's legs with his boot. She winced in pain, and Traven gritted his teeth. "Or is it you, and you're _worried _for her?"

This man, Traven decided, was dumb or inexperienced. Probably both. There were several things that he was doing that he shouldn't. First, he was getting too close to his prisoners, exposing himself to attack if their bonds didn't hold. Second,he was talking to them without knowing what he was asking, which was apparent by the way that he was fishing for answers. Third, and most importantly, he had taken them without knowing which was his target. Traven was quite sure that he was the target, since the man was asking for his name, but it seemed that the agent neither knew his real name, nor his gender. Despite the man's obtuse behavior, he was able to deduce that Traven was indeed the one he was looking for, turning back to Sasha with a dark chuckle.

"So then why did _he_ jump in front of _you_, if you're not the important one, hm?" he asked, pulling a blaster from a holster at his hip. Traven sawed furiously at the last bond, but the shard had gotten stuck on a knot. "Does he _care _for you? I'm sure he would mind if your brains were painting my walls."

Sasha, to her credit, didn't even flinch as he fiddled with the blaster. Both of them knew that he was smiling behind that gas mask, even though they couldn't see his face, and both of them hated him for it. Traven, pulling the shard free from the knot and continuing his work, was beginning to sweat. He didn't want the Jedi to die, even if he hadn't talked to her that much, and he was willing to do anything in his power to get them out of this. It was his fault, after all. When the agent lifted the blaster, however, poised to fire once and end the young woman's life, there was nothing that Traven could do but watch, still cutting away at his bond and struggling against it, the cloth biting into his wrists.

"Say goodbye," the agent said, and the cloth snapped. Time slowed as Traven launched himself forward, slamming himself into the agent's arm and throwing off his aim just as the blaster shot went off, scorching the wall five centimeters from Sasha's head. Traven turned just in time for a fist to hit him in the mouth, and he staggered back, watching the blaster come up to aim at him as he recovered. Suddenly, the agents arm was pulled wide, throwing the shot off and giving Traven enough time to close the distance and take hold of the man's wrist. He reminded himself to thank Sasha later for her intervention as he spun around the man's arm, yanking it back and forcing the agent to move forward, kicking out a leg to trip him as he released the arm, watching as their captor fell hard to the ground. Traven put a foot on his back to hold him there, reaching down and taking hold of his arm,pulling it up in a way that it wasn't supposed to go in a technique that he had been taught to disable prone opponents. The man shouted in pain as his arm was strained in a way that it wasn't supposed to, and Traven increased tension ever so slightly.

"Who hired you?" he asked, voice cold, unfeeling. The man didn't dare move, or risk having his arm popped painfully from its socket, but he was trained well enough to know that you don't just give up your employer's name to the first person that asks. Traven, with the image of him aiming a blaster at Sasha's head, pushed downwards with his foot and pulled back the arm about three centimeters, hearing the pop as the bone was slid from its socket in the shoulder, tearing two of the tendons and straining a third. It was a wound that he knew every detail of, even the average recovery time.

The agent screamed in pain, and Traven knew that he had never been interrogated before by the sound. He was obviously a relatively new recruit then, even if he had displayed some decent training. Releasing the useless arm, Traven picked up the fallen blaster and stepped off of the man, allowing him to roll over and aiming the blaster at his mask. "Who hired you?" he asked again int eh same voice.

"Councilor Meethle," the agent said, cradling his limp arm against his chest. Traven contemplated killing the man, but decided against it, slamming the pistol into his head with one succinct movement instead, watching the body slump to the side and lie motionless. He didn't bother checking for a pulse as he rushed over to Sasha's side, only to find her bleeding from a blaster wound to the chest.

* * *

Greus had returned to the apartment to find Sasha and Traven missing, a used flash grenade lying on the floor by the foot of the bed. There were no other signs of a struggle, and the lock had been bypassed by a automatic codebreaker, meaning that whoever had taken them was fairly skilled and therefore expensive. It didn't help Greus at all to know that, he had realized, and spent the next hour wondering what he was going to do. His padawan and the boy that Vandar had told him to protect had both been taken by an unknown assailant, or assailants, the vote that the council believed to be the center of the disturbance was happening tomorrow morning, and there had been no word from Vandar about Councilor Maleesta. Feeling very useless, Greus had gone back to searching cyberspace, hoping to find some piece of evidence that would help him to locate his padawan and the boy, but the only thing he managed to find only made his spirits fall further.

'One of the Maleesta children wasn't taken in the attack. Find him, and make sure that he remains quiet. Any companions that are with him are expendable.'

A message from an unknown councilor to an unknown agent. Needless to say, Greus didn't sleep very well that night, and meditation did nothing to relieve his nervousness. The next morning was almost worse, when Vandar contacted him and told him that their best laid plans had just failed, and that Maleesta hadn't contacted him with the identity of the corrupt councilor. Dreading what he would find, Greus turned on the holonet and found the live footage of the vote happening just down the street.

* * *

Councilor Maleesta was sweating as the seven-hundred members of the Lower Council filed into the large amphitheater that was the Lower Hall of the Capital building, taking their assigned seats along the terraced rows and waiting patiently as the Honorable Speaker moved slowly to sit in his silver throne on the floor of the room, the center of everyone attention. The Council was filled with tension that was borne of the upcoming vote, every one of the Echani men and women in the room watching their peers closely to decipher any small clue as to what their decision would be. Many of the Councilors were easy to predict. Meethle, the strongest and loudest supporter of the income tax, would obviously support his own position. Graven, the strongest supporter of the consumption tax and Maleesta's best friend and ally in the council, would obviously vote for his own stance.

There were others. Verana, Chanla, Burrin, Calcoph, Lowrev, Tallro, and Couln would vote income tax, all of them seated o the lowest tier, where the cities with the largest population centers sat. Yorin, Julis, Caryn, Ballns, and, supposedly, Maleesta, were going to vote consumption tax, and they were seated at the topmost tier, where cities with small populations were situated. Councilor Maleesta's chest clenched painfully when he thought of the many expectations that he was carrying on his back, waiting for the moment when he would throw them all to the dogs and watch helplessly as they were ton apart. None of the income tax supporters would miss the chance to jump on the weak link in the 'Cons Party,' as they had come to be called. Meethle's instructions had been clear: wait until it was suitable, stand, and declare support for the income tax bill. When that was done, his family would be freed, and he could live his life in peace, undoubtedly stripped of his seat in the Council and ostracized from his social circles. For Myria, he would give up everything. As long as his wife was alive, he could soldier on.

When the last of the councilors finally filed into the Lower Hall, several of them taking seats adjacent to Valyn's own position at a small desk on the top terrace, looking down on his peers and watching the aged Speaker stand, holding an ancient staff in his hands, made of iron and aluminum, a symbol of Echani industry and flexibility. With one swift movement, born of many repetitions, the staff struck the loud metal dish, filling the room with an echoing _clang! _that resonated in the ears of everyone present, When the sound finally died away, there was utter silence in the Hall, interrupted only by the occasional shuffle of papers on the small desks or the hum of the hovering chairs adjusting. When the Speaker finally spoke, it was with strength that you wouldn't expect from a man his age, loud and easily heard throughout everyone present, even at the far back of the Hall.

"All assembled delegates of the Lower Council, stand for the Oath," he said, turning to face the statue of the Echani God, a deity that spoke of Love, Justice, and Compassion. Echani weren't overly religious people, they rarely spoke to others about it, and they didn't try to convert anyone that didn't believe, unlike some other species that they had encountered, but they believed in the morals of their God, Svy, and they followed his teachings explicitly. Or...they said that they did.

One such teaching was to always treat authority with respect and remain aloof from the thoughts that tempt a man to corruption. Valyn was unsure if he was remaining true to Svy by doing as Meethle asked, for he was breaking that teaching to uphold another: Protect and serve the family that you created and nourished, at the cost of everything that you hold most dear. A shiver ran down Valyn's spine as he recited that simple sentence of Svy's teachings to himself, losing his eyes and chanting it in his head like a mantra as he began to recite the Oath.

'I, a faithful servant of the people and of Svy himself, vow to never sully this place with lies or dirty my honor with dishonesty. In the face of certain death, I will uphold the true wishes of my people, and I will speak with clarity to my fellow followers of Svy. By speaking this oath, I subject myself to Svy's judgment and harsh retribution should I fail to uphold my honesty and honor as an Echani. On my life I swear. Honor, Truth, Clarity.'

Maleesta was unable to finish the Oath, stopping at the part about _harsh retribution _and feeling the sudden urge to violently expel the contents of his stomach. When the Oath was finished, he fell back into his seat with relief, sweating profusely and wiping his forehead with the back of his hand. He was infinitely glad that he was sitting I the back of the Hall, away form the prying eyes of the other councilors and probing questions. When the Speaker once again turned to face the assembled delegates, he cleared his throat, his magnified voice filling the chamber with rich tones.

"Today we have assembled for our usual meeting, to address the issues of each individual city and populace and to deal with matters unfit for the High Council. The Courts have placed several very important matters at our feet, and due to the anxious faces that I am seeing among you, we shall begin with the one that has no doubt stoked much nervousness in all of you, and every citizen of Eshan itself. The vote of the bicentennial tax adjustment. As stated in the Valnoran Treaty that was signed with the Galactic Republic upon our contact, 'the representatives of Eshan will adjust the method of our taxes to the great sovereign nation known as the Galactic Republic to ensure that the taxes we pay not only benefit the Republic, but also the citizens of this planet.' The vote will be between the Income Tax Bill, and the Consumption Tax Reform Movement, passed here by the courts last year in the seventh month. Does anyone have any statements to make before we begin the vote?" The Speaker stepped down from the large silver throne, holding the staff invitingly towards any who would step forward to take it. Meethle, of course, stepped up to take the staff.

His speech was banal and delivered in a boring manner. He was confident that he was going to win the vote,and therefore put little effort into convincing the remaining members of the Council to vote his way. There was no use spending unnecessary energy shouting and gnashing his teeth when they weren't going to change their opinions and it didn't matter much anyway. Only one line of the speech struck home to Maleesta, for it seemed to be directed straight at him and his circumstance.

"...the repercussions of voting for the Consumption Tax Reform Movement will be as painful as it is long perennial..."

The words, to Valyn, meant that should he not do as Meethle said, along with the several other councilors in the room that were undoubtedly being likewise threatened, then their loved ones, Myria, Traven, Lyria, and Trynon, in Valyn's case, would suffer painful and slow deaths. Valyn swallowed, again feeling the nausea come over him as he watched Meethle take his seat, only for Graven to stand and contest everything that his opponent had said, as well as posing his own points in opposition. Graven, Traven's long time friend, the unofficial uncle of his children and brother in all but blood, cast his supporters a sincere look and begged them not to let their people down. It brought tears to Valyn's eyes to hear his friend pleading with the Council, moving every one of them, regardless of their views, with his words. When the speaker finally began the vote, saying every councilor's name and marking down their response, giving time for interruptions in between, Maleesta knew that his tie was growing near.

When the Speaker finished with the first terrace after nearly an hour of votes and interruptions, followed by more votes and more interruptions, Valyn decided that he could bear the stress no longer. He waited for the current speaker to step down, watching the representative from a large city very near the capital state his vote and move to sit, he launched to his feet, giving a cry and speaking as if he didn't see the hundred of eyes turning to face him.

"I councilor Maleesta, have decided to support Councilor Meethle's party in this matter," he stated as firmly as he could, ignoring the shocked silence that followed as he sat heavily in his chair. The chaos that erupted afterwards drowned out his thoughts as he stared aimlessly ahead, watching as the party that he had previously supported, every single member of which he knew personally, began to crumble at the seams, the weaker-willed members flocking to support Maleesta, and the more adamant ones cursing is name in loud exclamations.

_For Myria, _Valyn thought, closing his eyes against the chaos, _My love._


	6. Part 1 Chapter 6

A/N: And I'm back. That last chapter was cruel to leave you all hanging like that, but 'ain't nobody gonna hit harder than life,' right?

Chapter 5

Valyn Maleesta looked like hell. Dark circles surrounded his haunted eyes, wrinkles that hadn't been there the previous day creased his worn face, and his lips were drawn into a tight line as he marched through the halls of the capital building, making his way quickly to Councilor Meethle's office, where he was going to get his family back. They had made a deal, but just in case Meethle didn't uphold that deal, Valyn had brought an old souvenir form the Exar Kun wars with him: an eight inch long serrated cortosis-weave dagger. It was tucked into the folds of his white robes, hidden from view and in a specialized sheath that would make it invisible to weapons scanners. As he walked through the halls of the capital building, ignoring the secretaries and officers that were bustling about with datapads in their hands and scowls on their faces, his mind was taking a turn onto a dark road. He knew that they were all bustling to complete the editing of the tax reform bills and put it into effect the following week. They had no doubt been paid to ignore the line talking about personal benefits for individual representatives of large cities, and that very same line was the reason why Valyn was forced to endure five hours of gruesome insults and shouts. Meethle knew that if the bill didn't pass through the Low Council, and the High Council got a look at it, they would have destroyed the Bill and passed the consumption tax upon finding the condemning line that played to the greed of half the councilors in the Lower Council.

Valyn shook his head as he stopped in front of the door to Meethle's office, placing his palm on the green sensor pad and watching as it slowly confirm his identity, recognizing him as a Councilor and opening the door for him with a slight hiss, revealing the inside of Meethle's office. It was unsurprisingly spartan inside the cubicle, and as Valyn stepped into the small room, interrupting Meethle as he sifted through stacks of datapads on his desk, the two-time war veteran took in every detail of his surroundings. The carpets that Valyn walked on were a maroon, matching the rest of the capital building, and the walls were a dark gray, the monotone of color uninterrupted by any decorations or pictures whatsoever. The maroon carpets would hide the color of blood, Valyn thought grimly. The desk was similarly undecorated, with not a single picture of a family or landscape in sight on the surface of the large semi-circular desk, and the space that was normally occupied by personal belongings was filled instead with official reminders and datapads containing legislation. Some people would look at the office and say that Meethle was dedicated to his job. Valyn would look at the office and say that Meethle was a sociopath. The mentioned sociopath barely even looked up as Valyn entered the room, the door sliding closed behind him with a soft hiss, and Valyn took advantage of his momentary distraction and turned, swiping a hand across the access pad and locking the door, sensors turning red and beeping quietly in response.

Meethle did look up then, taking in the worn, tired veteran that was standing in his office, white robes hanging off of his gaunt form and eyes searching Meethle's face for a moment before he crossed the office and placed his hands on the edge of the durasteel desk. Their eyes, both silver at the surface, but filled with very different emotions, met and clashed for a moment, before Valyn spoke, softly and persistently.

"Where are they?"

Meethle shook his head, smiling coldly as he stood. "Don't tell me that two wars left you so naïve, Maleesta? Tell me, what would you do if you were taking hostages to get your way?"

"I," Valyn said, after a pause, "would take a hostage that is very close to the person I'm trying to force into a decision, threaten that person with death. Once the demands were met, which they would be, in the face of their loved ones' deaths, I would return them to the person I threatened and..."

"Kill them all?" Meethle inserted, the smile twisting even more. "I enjoy the final touch you put on it. Make the man watch his family die, you know? It's so...personal."  
Valyn's eyes narrowed as his heart started pounding in his chest. What was the point of this conversation? "That wasn't what I was going to say."

"Wasn't it? You _would_ be stupid enough to believe that they would remain quiet if you simply gave the hostages back. They would look for revenge. That's what people do," Meethle said. "You fought in two wars and learned nothing of sentient depravity? I'm disappointed Valyn."

Suddenly, Valyn got the feeling that he had made a grave error. He should have contacted Vandar and told him of Meethle' manipulation,instead of playing into his hands and doing as he asked before the Lower Council. He felt nauseous as Meethle walked around him, stopping in front of a holoprojector and tapping several buttons on the control pad. Humming gently, a blue image flickered to life before them. His wife, sitting against a durasteel wall with her children chained on either side of her, close enough to be heard but remain out of reach. The video was paused, and Valyn noticed that Traven was not among the prisoners in the still image. As he cast a look to Meethle, however, the other councilor sighed.

"Your eldest took umbrage to the attack on your estate. The men I hired didn't take kindly to resistance," he explained dismissively, as if I was the most obvious thing in the world. Valyn felt anger surge through him like a wildfire, but he didn't have time to say anything before the video started, the image of his wife drawing Valyn's eyes back to the half-size holograms on the projector's surface.

_She struggled against the chains once more, weakly as if she'd already tried a thousand times and was sure that nothing would break the chains that held her against the wall. She was right. The chains rattled above her head, but showed no other signs of acknowledgment to her movements, still holding steadfast to her bruised and bloodied arms. With a sigh, she lowered her chin to her chest, staring down at the hard gray floor between her legs. There was the sound of a door opening, echoing across the room, and both of her children's heads snapped up to take in the large, imposing figure of an approaching slaver. He carried a blaster in his hands. Confusion passed over her face for the briefest second before it was replaced with fear._

_ "What are you doing?" she asked quickly, eyes locked onto the blaster he was carrying. The large man sighed, looking regretful as he prepped the blaster for fire._

_ "Boss's orders," he said, simply, then leveled the blaster at her head. The two children, despite their young age, knew that something bad was about to happen, and began crying and squirming in their chains. Myria closed her eyes and took a deep breath, falling limp in the chains and thinking of her husband in the seconds before the blaster shot went off. The two children paused at the sight of the gore, shocked, but when it set in that their mother was dead, they both began shouting with renewed intensity._

Valyn, thinking that the video was a live feed, turned to Meethle to beg. "Please! Their just children! You can't..."

Another blaster shot. Another piece of Valyn's heart dead.

"NO! YOU BASTARD! That's my daughter! Don't..."

The final shot sounded, this one causing Valyn to buckle at the knees and retch at the base of the holoprojector, everything he had enjoyed about the world suddenly being torn away from him in that second. Meethle only stood there, shutting off the holoprojector and turning to face Valyn with a wrinkled nose.

"Who's going to clean that up, hmm? I suppose it doesn't matter, since it isn't my ship," he asked, and Valyn blinked the tears from his eyes. The sound of Meethle's voice brought all of his anger back to the surface, boiling over and causing his vision to tint red as he stood shakily and reached into his robes, hand grasping the plastisteel hilt of the wicked dagger and drawing it quickly from its sheath. He reached out, grabbing Meethle by the neck with his left hand and pulling him forward, the knife moving as if on its own accord to lodge itself deep into Meethle's gut. The corrupt politician's eyes widened in pain as he realized what had just happened, and he blinked with shock, face contorting as Valyn twisted the dagger cruelly before pushing Meethle away, slashing the dagger across his lying throat as he fell to the floor, gurgling as life left him. When his eyes finally went dead, they were still staring at Valyn.

When the rush of anger had left him, Valyn sighed and turned to the holoprojector, a keen sense of hopelessness filling him as he flicked the switch, watching his wife's face as it appeared on screen, the video having restarted at the beginning. He realized belatedly that it was a recording, and not a live feed, but he didn't care, since the outcome of the contents was the same, whether it happened hours ago or seconds ago. Valyn reached his bloody hand out, touching the hologram of his wife and allowing tears to run down his cheeks. They were all dead.

Because he failed.

"Myria," Valyn whispered in a broken voice, dropping his chin to his chest and squeezing his eyes shut. Why did life have to be so horrible? "I'm so sorry, Myria..."

When Valyn opened his eyes, filled with loss, they fell onto the dagger in his hands, still bloodied from his act of murder and glinting in the office light. The blade seemed to be taunting him, speaking softly to him, begging him.

_It could all end now, _it said. _You could see your wife again._

With tears running down his face, Valyn lifted the ultra-sharp blade and pushed it into his own chest, gasping at the pain that filled him just before his heart pumped a jet of blood from his body. He fell to the ground, closing his eyes and smiling as life left him, every heartbeat pounding in his head, echoing like a countdown.

_Myria...I'm coming..._

* * *

Traven had been taught to treat blaster wounds in the field, and he knew how to tell when there didn't seem to be any way to save someone. As he knelt beside Sasha, however, her breath coming in shallow gasps and her eyes wild with pain, he could see that the shot had missed her heart, clipping the left lung and causing a collapse, explaining the shortness of breath. If he didn't get her to a hospital soon, blood would begin to fill the punctured lung, and she would suffocate. The ribs protecting her lung had been vaporized in a large four centimeter section on her chest, and Traven could see the charred skin around the wound. It hadn't penetrated all the way through her chest, but it had gotten deep enough that he feared she might bleed to death if he didn't do something. In his head, Traven made a list of the things that needed to be done. The first was to dress the wound and stop bleeding.

"Hold still," he said, pulling his shirt off of his shoulders and tearing it to strips. He saw Sasha's eyes widen for a moment, but she didn't dare speak as he handed one strip of cloth to her. "Bite down on that."

This was going to hurt. Closing his eyes for a moment, Traven balled up some of the cloth and pressed it into the blaster wound, blood squeezing between his fingers as he pressed down, attempting to stem the flow of blood. Sasha's eyes widened in pain and he could see her jaw tighten on the cloth he'd handed her. After a moment, when the blood showed no signs of letting up, Traven swore softly and pulled his hand away, adding a little more cloth. The wound was just above her breast, beneath the collarbone, and it was a simple thing for Traven to wrap cloth around her neck and arm, tying it tight to hold his makeshift bandage in place. Sasha groaned as he wrapped his arm under her right side, lifting her to her feet, hands still bound behind her back. She coughed as they stood, blood specks spotting the floor in front of her, and Traven moved with more urgency, cutting her bonds and lifting her right arm.

"Put pressure on the wound," he ordered her, but she didn't follow his command, staggering slightly to the right and toppling to the side. Traven caught her in his arms and saw her pale face, knowing that time was running out. Instead of walking her out, he decided that it would be best just to run, so without asking permission, Traven swung an arm under her knees and lifted her up, before taking off through the doorway and out into the main room of the abandoned warehouse. Traven didn't know where he was, but he knew that someone would be able to get them to a hospital is they saw her wound. The bandages around her shoulder were turning red with blood, seeping through the robes and down his chest. Running as fast as he could without overbalancing them and crushing his precious cargo, Traven burst out of the warehouse doors and into the streets, attracting the attention of several pedestrians. Spotting the nearest one, a stunned looking woman with worn features, Traven took a deep breath and shouted.

"Someone call an ambulance!" he said. The woman saw the blood on his chest and the red bandages around Sasha's shoulders and immediately moved to contact the hospital. Traven knew that there was nothing else to do but wait, so he carefully lowered Sasha to the ground, her fevered eyes finding his as he pressed down on her wound again, trying in vain to stop the blood from flowing. Her eyes closed slowly as she coughed, a trickle of red spilling from her mouth and running down the side of her cheek.

Greus had spent most of the day searching for Traven and Sasha, after Councilor Maleesta's stunning words in the Hall that morning, but hadn't had much luck. None of the customers int eh other rooms of the hotel were helpful, and Greus could feel nothing through the training bond with Sasha. He knew that she must either be unconscious or dead, and since he hadn't felt the bond snap, he figured she must still be knocked out from the attack itself. It was nearing midday, and Greus was losing hope, when several things happened at once.

First, a headache-inducing ripple was sent through the Force, crashing into Greus like a tidal wave and causing him to feel a sensation of vertigo, leaning against a nearby wall and holding onto his head. There was something very bad that was happening, and it was nearby. Greus reached out and embraced the disturbance, trying to decipher its source, but all he found was pain and death filling the dull echoes. Fear began to grip at the stalwart Jedi as he immediately thought of his padawan, but the training bond was still intact. No. Something else had happened.

The next thing that happened, immediately after the first had subsided, was that the training bond suddenly opened up, revealing pain and fear coming from his padawan. It was hard to center it on a location, and it was only a flash of emotions from Sasha before it went dark again, this time even more silent than it had been before. Greus blinked,wondering briefly if the two events were connected in some way, but he shrugged it off as he heard shouts coming from the street, and he turned just in time to see a group of three people calling for a doctor. Greus was running before he even knew what was happening, the buildings on either side of the street a blur as he turned the corner and saw two figures, one lying on the side of the road and the other crouched over it, blood streaking his chest and soaking his hands. Greus didn't know if the bloodied figure was actually Traven, since all Echani looked the same, but he recognized the prone figure immediately. Sasha.

Her face was pale, and the sight of her blood make Greus cringe inside as he slowed his approach, noticing Traven look up at him and breathe a sigh of relief. He didn't know if that trust was well-placed, since he had never been a very good medic, but when he saw his padawan unconscious on the road, blood soaking her robes and sliding down her cheeks, he almost began to weep.

"What happened?" he asked, voice hollow. The training bond was slipping further and further away from him, and Greus knew that it was about to break entirely, leaving him alone once more. This time, unlike Vash, it would be because of death, not because of separation.

The boy looked up at the Jedi. "Blaster shot to the chest, above the left breast, beneath the collarbone. Missed the heart by several centimeters, clipped the left lung. Two ribs vaporized, major bleeding, collapsed lung, sporadic heartbeat, and shock," he said, listing off all the things wrong with the padawan in quick succession. "She'll need a blood transfusion soon, and perhaps a heart-lung machine to make up for the collapse. The lung will need to be sealed before the wound can be closed, or she'll suffocate. The first thing we need to do is stop her bleeding, but I don't know why there's so much blood. The Academy taught us about circulatory system, and I don't remember there being any major arteries right there..."

Greus stopped him by putting a hand on his shoulder. "It's alright," he said. "She is strong, she will survive."

Traven only nodded and knelt beside her, placing his hands back on the wound and applying pressure, watching the skies for the ambulance anxiously. The ambulance, a sleek, fast-looking shuttle with two swept back wings and a cabin that hissed open before they had even touched the ground, a group of three paramedics rushing out of the vehicle and to Traven's side, kneeling beside him and pulling the bandages away gently to look at the wound. Greus watched as Traven backed away, allowing the doctors to do their work, but lending them his knowledge of the wound when necessary.

Greus didn't think that a general first aid course on treating wounds on the battlefield covered the treatments that would be given at a hospital, or exactly what would happen if a person was shot in a specific area. It was amazing that Traven knew as much as he did about treating wounds without a formal medical degree. Traven repeated everything that he said to the paramedics when they arrived, catching the attention of the senior officer. The older Echani man nodded, doing just as Traven said to, stopping the bleeding with a spray that sealed the wound shut before closing the tear in the lung with a specialized bandage, applying kolto to the wound to accelerate healing. As the paramedics worked, Traven stepped away, watching with worried eyes and a calm face as they took care of the young Jedi's wound. When they had finished all the critical things, they lifted her onto a gurney and slid her into the back of the ambulance shuttle, gesturing for Greus and Traven to join them inside as it started to pull away. Neither of the men hesitated to step into the shuttle, looking down at her unconscious form with worry.

"She lost a lot of blood," the paramedic said slowly. "The shot was too close for comfort to her heart, and a lot of blood passes through that area on the way to the arm. I'm not sure I would have known what to do without your help. I've never treated a blaster wound before."  
Traven didn't respond, turning to Greus instead and looking up at the huge man. "You know her blood type?"  
"O," Greus said, and the paramedic nodded, calling the hospital immediately and setting up an operation room.

"When we arrive, the Guard will ask you what happened," the paramedic said to Traven, looking down at Sasha. "She might not make it, but what you did made that chance a lot better. We're pulling into the shuttle bay now."

Sure enough, the doors to the back of the shuttle opened, and a group of shouting doctors immediately pulled Sasha from the ambulance shuttle, wheeling her down a hallway quickly and running scans over her prone body. As Traven stepped out of the shuttle, however, still shirtless and covered in blood, he was stopped by a city guard, tall and old with thinning hair and a six o'clock shadow, kind silver eyes and the usual Echani bone structure. Firm, angled, and elegant. He met Traven's eyes and blinked for a moment, flicking over the blood along his chest and hands, before nodding his head and blinking slowly.

"What's your name?" he asked, watching as Traven did the exact same inspection to the officer, noticing the blaster at his hip and the inconspicuous body armor underneath his uniform. It was impossible for Traven to tell much about the man without seeing him fight, but he was able to discern hardened muscles in his arms and a soft look to his eyes that spoke of kindness.

"Traven Maleesta. You will want to know what happened?"

There was a pause in the conversation then, as a shadow passed over the old Guard's face, causing sadness to filter into his eyes, tempered with a little bit of relief and a tiny bit of regret. "Thank Svy," he said. "We all thought you dead."

Traven blinked. He had only been missing for twelve hours at the maximum, but he had figured it to be about six or seven. Standard procedure stated that a person wasn't considered dead for two weeks after their disappearance, and only then if there was no trail to follow regarding their location. He raised his brow at the man, accepting a rag from the passing nurse and wiping the blood from his hands and chest. He wasn't bothered by the fat that he didn't have a shirt on, since all Echani were very comfortable with their bodies and had few qualms about showing them, but it was rather chilling at the top of the skyscraper's hangar, and he shivered as the wind picked up, rushing across his damp skin. "Why?" he asked. "The agent only took us several hours ago. He was hired by Councilor Meethle to silence me regarding the disappearance of my family two days ago..."

The look of sadness intensified on the man's face, and he reached out his hand, interrupting Traven. "Come on, son," he said. "There's a lot of things that happened while you were missing."


	7. Part 1 Chapter 7

A/N: Sorry for the long wait on this one. I plan to update several times in a row today and tomorrow to make up for it.

Chapter 6

Traven didn't know why he felt like someone had just punched him in the gut as the guard led him away from the ambulance, stopping against the far wall of the hangar and closing his eyes, sighing as if he was about to do something very difficult. Traven watched the older man lean against the wall, angling his head down slightly to look at Traven as he spoke, his warm, friendly tone making Traven feel as if he was less of a Guard and more of a friend. The words that he said, however, changed Traven's life forever.

"Two days ago," the guard began. "A councilor in the Lower Council named Vett Meethle hired a group of slavers to kidnap your family, intending to use them as hostages to force your father to vote his way in the tax votes that took place this morning. He had no intention of ever returning your family to your father, even if he did what Meethle demanded, but your father didn't know that. In order to save your mother and siblings, he did as Meethle ordered him to this morning, voting for the income tax in a very flamboyant manner and creating discord in the Council that insured the income tax bills would pass. When your father approached Meethle this morning, he found that Meethle had killed your mother and siblings, and was showed a recording of their deaths. Meethle lied to your father and said that you had been killed, likely because he underestimated your training when he sent an agent to kill you, and your father, with no options left...I don't know how to say it..."

Traven didn't need to hear any more. He could already see it in his head, the two-time war veteran breaking and killing Meethle with his bare hands in a blind rage, stumbling exhausted and hopeless to the nearest Guard station and turning himself in for the crime, resigned to his fate of life in prison. It made Traven's jaw clench in anger at Meethle, and his mind to reel at the implications of what had just been said. "He's been arrested?"

The Guard shook his head, and Traven blinked. He waited for the older man to explain, however, but when he was told, he didn't know if it had been smart to ask. "He killed Meethle," the Guard said. "With a combat knife. But afterwards...well...the investigators believe that..." the Guard took a deep breath. "He killed himself immediately afterward."

The words were like bullets to Traven as he blinked in confusion for a moment, before realizing that it made perfect sense, in a morbid, logical way. His father had post traumatic stress disorder from the wars, and it had made him susceptible to bouts of anger and depression. He had always leaned on his family for support, pushing through it by relying on their love, but if he thought that they were all dead...there was nothing for him to live for. Especially after Meethle, the one who did it to him, was killed. But suicide!? To an Echani, suicide was the worst crime a person could commit against their family and themselves, and Traven's father, the great general and politician Valyn Maleesta, had been too weak to push on, had spat in Svy's face. It made Traven angry, so angry that he clenched his hands into tight fists and pounded on the wall hard enough to cause everyone in the hangar to stop and turn, but that didn't stop the tears of frustration and pain that spilled over Traven's eyes.

'Control is the mark of a great man. Not courage, not mercy, not intellect. Without control, it is all meaningless.' One of the Academy's mantras whispered in the back of Traven's mind, and it caused him to shake his head, wiping the tears from his face angrily and blinking hard, ignoring the blurriness of his vision as he turned to the Guard.

"What happens now?" he asked after a long moment of silence, but the question was answered not by the Guard, but by another, deeper voice.

Greus had approached the pair sometime during the conversation, and now he decided to speak, shaking his head sadly. "The Jedi will take you," he said, confidently. Traven looked over at Greus, blinking. Everyone knew that the Jedi didn't take students older than six months to a year, especially if the person had known their family, and Traven didn't fit either criteria. He didn't even know if he was Force sensitive. Greus spoke before Traven could reply, shaking his head sadly. "I was sent to prevent a disaster," he said, "and I failed, but I promise that I will do anything in my power to make it right. You should go and wait for Sasha to wake up from her operations, I must speak to the Council."

Traven simply nodded and walked off slowly, the eyes of both the Guard and the Jedi on his back as he entered the elevator and closed the doors. Greus looked back to the guard and smiled sympathetically. "Thank you for telling him," he said. "I know how hard that is."

"It's a tragedy. Valyn was a good man," the guard said. "The boy has no other family. His father was an only child, and the grandparents died in the war, so I don't see any problem with the Jedi taking him. Better than him becoming a street urchin. We have enough of those already."

Greus knew all about the scars that the Great Sith War had caused—he had fought in several of the battles himself near the end of it all—and he nodded his head, watching the guard make his way towards his vehicle and exit the hangar, leaving Greus in solitude, watching the comings and goings of the medical staff with detached interest. He needed to speak to the Council.

* * *

"His midichlorians may be concentrated, but so was Exar Kun's and Ulic Qel-Droma's. The sensitivity of a student does not make them worth the risk of training," Vrook said harshly, sitting in his chair in the Coruscant Jedi Temple, watching the other assorted members of the Council digest his words carefully. "Taking a student that is too old is a risk that we cannot afford to take, not after a war as brutal as the last."

"You let Greus train Sasha," Vash argued softly. "You let him train me."

"Sasha never knew her family, and she was only five years old," Dorak reminded Vash. "And you were a special case."

"This boy isn't? How many of us here can boast a midichlorian count of eleven thousand? Only half of us, I'd imagine," Vash said. "Someone that powerful in the Force cannot be left untrained. What if the Sith got their hands on him?"  
Vandar, one of the three holograms in the room, nodded his head. "The truth Master Vash speaks. Allow the boy to remain unwatched and untrained we cannot."  
"Training him is dangerous," Zez-Kai Ell spoke, after a long silence in the chambers. "His strength is what makes it that way. If he fell, then how many of our students would follow? Would we even be able to stop them, bruised as we are?"

The question caused murmurs to run through the Jedi that were assembled. "Of course we could," Atris said, arrogant as always, "We are Jedi."

"But at what cost?" Vrook said. "No, I do not believe that training the boy is worth the risk. No singular Jedi Knight could be strong enough to warrant the possible destruction of half the Order."

"If believe that, you do, then no student would ever be taken," Vandar said sagely. There were whispers of agreement from the other Council members, echoing around the large circular antechamber. When it had finally quieted, Master Vandar spoke again. "Contacting me, Master Greus is," he said. "Put him through to the Council, I will."

"Please," Zez-Kai Ell said, and Vandar did so, the blue, flickering image of the massive Jedi appearing in the center of the chamber. He looked around, taking in the Council members that were situated around him and blinked slowly.

"Greetings, Masters," he said, raising one eyebrow. "I was not expecting to speak to all of you, though it would be prudent for you all to hear what I have to say."

"Has something happened?" Master Vash asked, worry coloring her voice.

Greus nodded gravely, sadness falling over his features as he took a breath. All of the masters in the room prepared for the worst. "The disturbance that you felt was centered around a boy, which Master Vandar may have told you about. He is very Force Sensitive, and showed signs of being able to feel the future through what he would call a hunch. His father is...was a very important politician in the Echani Lower Council, and the vote on the type of taxes that Eshan would pay to the Republic was coming up."

All of the Masters listened closely to what he said, but Greus could tell that they were anxious for him to get to the point, so he skipped forward. "A Councilor named Meethle wanted to blackmail Traven's father to vote for the income tax, so he hired a group of slavers called the Crescent Skull to kidnap his family. Traven was supposed to be captured with them, but he killed four of the slavers when they tried, and they ran, leaving Traven to be wounded by the following explosion designed to cover their tracks. I had no idea what was going on, and attempted to do investigating, but my lack of thought ended up with Sasha and the boy being captured. Sasha was shot in the chest during their attempt to escape, and Traven killed their attacker, proceeding to save her life with the skills he was taught at the academy. Then, we learned of what had happened in the Lower Council that morning."

Here, Greus took a deep breath and closed his eyes, loathing the response that his words would bring. It would only make the Council less likely to train the boy if they knew, but he couldn't lie to his Masters. He hoped that his promise would be enough to persuade them. "Traven's family was killed by the slavers on Meethle's command, and his father, after being told that Traven was also dead, killed Meethle in a rage, but was overcome with depression afterward and killed himself as well, leaving Traven alone with no family. He is in the hospital now, watching over Sasha' operation."

The Council didn't quite know what to think as they digested Greus' words. The news that his padawan had nearly died, that the boy's entire family had been killed, and that Traven had killed five men over the past two days was the deal-breaker for many of them, and Vrook put it into words succinctly when he said: "We will not train a boy that is fourteen years too old, inclined to lethal behavior, and suffering from loss. The dark side would devour him if we did."

Not many of the Council noticed Greus' pained expression when Vrook said this, but Vandar did, and he immediately came to the boy's defense. "Allow the boy to remain untrained and unprotected we cannot," he said.

The Council chambers were quiet for a long time, nothing but the quiet hum of the holoprojectors to fill the pregnant silence, until, at long last, Greus spoke softly. "I promised the boy that the Jedi would take care of him."

"You did what?" Vrook asked, looking darkly at the Master in the center of the room. The incredulity was very thinly veiled in his voice, and the other Master's blinked when they heard it. "You haven't the authority to make such promises."

Vash spoke next, reprimanding her fellow Master and shaking her head. "As a Jedi of our Order and a very prestigious Jedi, Greus has the authority to act in any way that he feels necessary. We are Jedi, Vrook, sworn to protect and care for the Republic and her citizens."

Vrook, however, would not be placated so easily. "We cannot save every orphan in Republic space! There are more important things for us to devote resources than to a single unfortunate child."

The rest of the Council, no matter how much they would like to disagree, knew that Vrook's words held merit. There was much that the Jedi needed to do in the wake of the Great Sith War, even if it had ended nearly two decades ago, and the Jedi's resources were being spread painfully thin. "There is an alternative," Zez-Kai Ell said, attracting the attention of every member of the Council. "A way that we can fulfill our promise and keep eyes on the child."

"_Our _promise?" Vrook was quick to contest. "Greus' promise, you mean."

Vandar shook his head. "The promise of one is the promise of all, Master Vrook. Disturbing, your lack of feeling is."  
Vrook refused to respond to that, simply sinking further into his seat and staring at the ground, listening with half an ear as Zez-Kai Ell continued calmly, as if he hadn't been interrupted. "The Republic is forming an agency, known as the Republic Strategic Information Services, or SIS for short. This agency will be used to identify threats to the Republic and counteract them before they can become real, as well as acting as special forces to supplement the Republic Military Special Operations. They are currently searching for agents to serve in this agency, and after two years of training in their special academy on Coruscant, I am sure that Traven would make a fine addition to the SIS."

He was quiet for a moment, looking around the chamber for approval. "In addition, due tot he academy's location on Coruscant, it would be very simple to keep tabs on him, to ensure that he doesn't become a threat to the Order or the Republic."

Atris, having remained silent since her first comment, spoke once more. "Exposing him to death and violence is almost as dangerous as teaching him the Force," she said. "How can we ensure that he remains...innocent?"

"I can instruct the SIS academy to keep him in training longer than a usual recruit, if it would please the Council," Zez-Kai Ell said. "Is this a suitable arrangement, Master Greus?"

There was something in his eyes that told the Council his true feelings about their decision, but his words were simple. "Of course, Masters," he said. The fire never left his eyes as he smiled, spreading his arms imploringly. "If that is all, I would like to go see my Padawan now. Thank you for your time."

The connection between Eshan and Coruscant died, and Greus shook his head as he stepped from the communications theater, guilt weighing on his shoulders as he walked through the halls of the hospital's hotel. He didn't envy Traven the life that the Jedi had just decided to give him, always being held back, watched constantly like some kind of feral beast. Greus gritted his teeth and looked for a place to sit; he needed to calm his thoughts.

* * *

Traven sat in the observation deck of the operation room, usually reserved for close family and medical practitioners, watching as the surgeons worked to replace the the damaged tissue of Sasha's lung with a synthetic equivalent. It was an interesting procedure to watch, but not for those that loathed the sight of blood. Traven felt a twinge in his gut as the doctors worked, pulling at her lung carefully and attempting to insert the synthetic tissue as the monitors began to increase in tempo. He averted his eyes. Traven was not squeamish—he was quite familiar with the sight of blood—but when it came to _her _blood, it caused him to feel uneasy. Maybe it was because he had saved her life, or, perhaps even more likely, it was because she had saved his. He didn't know, and neither did he care all that much at the moment. As long as she survived.

There was an attachment that he felt to the young Jedi, even if they had only known each other briefly, and it was the only attachment that Traven had left, besides the one that he had formed with his mentor at the Academy, Cherya. He wondered briefly what would happen to her if the Jedi took him, but shrugged off the thought, knowing exactly what her words would be.

'Personal responsibility and duty must always come before attachment and emotions.' Another one of the mantras of the Academy, this one in the form of a regulation that had been present in their handbook. In the few brief relationships that Traven had maintained during his time at the Academy, he had observed this regulation at all times, sometimes leading to frustration and anger on the part of his partner, but he understood the reason for it. Cherya would want him to live his own life, regardless of what her thoughts were as his only friend and mentor. It was Svy's will that things happen in certain ways, and Traven was unable to bring himself to hate it.

He wondered briefly if the Jedi would take a boy that had blood on his hands and loss in his heart. Deep down, beneath the stony features of his face and the glint of silver eyes, he knew that they wouldn't, and that he wouldn't see the fiery-haired Padawan after her master took him to confront the Council. Traven couldn't understand why it bothered him that it would be so. Instead of dwelling on it, Traven allowed himself to doze off in the observation deck, the weariness of the days' events taking its toll on him. He didn't even notice when the surgeons finished their work and sealed Sasha's wound, adding synthetic bone and replicating flesh at the site of the blaster wound. When Greus found him an hour later, the old Jedi simply sat down beside him and stared down at the bloodied operating table.


	8. Part 2 Chapter 1

Chapter 7

Sasha watched the man that had saved her life sit on the bunk in the small shuttle, propped against the cold walls with his eyes closed. He thought that no one could see the tears that squeezed from his closed eyelids and trailed down his face in the darkness of the shuttle, but Sasha could, and her heart ached for him. She wanted to sit next to him and offer her comfort, but she had no comfort to give, and she doubted that he would want it, even if she did. She knew he was asleep when his breathing leveled out, and she made her way across the room to stand beside his bed.

"Thank you," she told his sleeping form, putting a small hand on his forehead as gently as possible. One of her thumbs stroked a lingering tear away from his face.

* * *

He was too old, they said. He was too bitter. Traven shook his head with disdain at the Jedi's actions, wondering how an order that was so stuck up had survived for so many years, especially since most people feared the Jedi just as much as they had the Sith. At this point, Traven no longer cared. Greus and Sasha had taken him to Coruscant, where he had been escorted to the Council chambers and told, very eloquently, that they had decided he was not to be trained as a Jedi, but instead sent to an academy nearby for the new SIS agency that the Senate had apparently approved several months prior. Traven, needless to say, was somewhat offended that the Jedi had refused to accept him, and he was even more angry that no one had argued in his favor during the hearing. Not even Sasha had said anything in his defense as the old Jedi masters went on about how bitterness was held in his heart, and anger in his mind. It was all a pretty way of saying that he had blood on his hands and the Jedi were scared. So Traven had left, without escort, to go to the SIS Academy and begin his new life, only pausing to say goodbye to Sasha on the way out.

It wasn't anything special, nothing eloquent or drawn out. She had simply put a hand on his shoulder as he moved to leave through the Jedi Temple's massive main entrance, pulled him into an embrace, thanked him one last time, then watched as he disappeared down the steps, into the metal forest that was Coruscant. His back was turned to her, so she hadn't seen the tears of frustration that had welled up in his eyes. It had taken him longer than usual to swallow his sadness and take a taxi over to the SIS Academy, not knowing what to expect and afraid because of it.

Now, he was standing in an office, waiting in silence for one Logan Fellsworth, the Director of the Republic Strategic Information Services, to accept him into his office for their little chat. The massive structure that had been built to house the SIS was eerily deserted, with only a few souls wandering the large halls, talking in hushed whispers. Traven had found it odd that there were no other recruits there, but he had shrugged it off, figuring that perhaps they had a day off or something to that effect. He was wrong.

Eventually, the director opened the door to his office and beckoned Traven inside with one wrinkled hand. Traven couldn't help but notice the missing pinky finger of that hand, and the blaster scars that covered the back, but he didn't say anything, smiling and making his way into the large office, watching the old man walk around the desk and sit, folding his hands on the metal surface and raising an eyebrow.

"You can sit, kid," he said gruffly, gesturing to a seat. "Drink?" Traven nodded and did as he was asked, sitting with his back rigid and his eyes scanning the room quickly, noting the decorative weapons that were hung on the wall behind the director, and the holoprojector that was humming softly in the corner, beside the large glass windows that gave a stunning view of the city-planet sprawled out all around them. The director, after pouring Traven a glass of weak juma juice, was simply watching Traven loosely, a smile spreading across his face and a glint to his eye that Traven could only call eagerness, though the reason for it eluded him.

"You realize I am only fifteen," Traven said, reaching for his glass. The bitter drink slid down his throat smoothly, and he shrugged as he placed the glass onto the desk. The older man laughed, putting a hand to his stomach as he did so and leaning back in his chair.

When he had calmed himself, he shook his head. Traven found that he was liking the balding director, and a small smile found its way onto his face. "I know," he said. "And you're also the very first agent in the SIS."

That was a surprise, and it made Traven remain silent for a moment. "Interesting," he said at long last, gesturing around them. "Why did the Jedi send me here?"

"I can't answer that, kid," Logan said. "Jedi who aren't accepted are usually send to the AgriCorps, not the military."

"I was never a Jedi," Traven pointed out. There was silence for a moment before Traven shifted his posture, spreading his arms imploringly. "What exactly do you plan for me to do in the SIS?"

"The Jedi don't want you to do anything," Logan said bluntly. "They 'requested' that you remain in training longer than the average recruit. But that would just be a damn waste of potential. I intend to make you the top agent in the SIS. The first and the best. Judging from the recommendations I received from the Lordran Academy on Eshan, I can't imagine that being so difficult."

"Why would the Jedi send me here if they were only going to hold me back?" Traven asked, irritation seeping into his voice. "They told me that they had found a place where my skills could be nourished and used for the good of the Republic, not where I could sit and rot."

Logan shrugged, a smirk on his wrinkled face. "I dunno. Jedi are weird, and, if you ask my opinion, somewhat dimwitted. That's why there's no other recruits here, by the way. Gives me an excuse when they ask why you weren't held as long as they'd like. The Jedi said to train you for longer than usual, and I will, but only by several months."  
"When does this training start?" Traven asked, raising an eyebrow. The director smiled then, clapping his hands together and standing, gesturing for Traven to do the same.

"No better time than the present," he said. "Take the turbolift to floor one, I'll be watching."  
Traven nodded and stood. He didn't know what was waiting for him on the first floor of the SIS building, but he his nerves were starting to get to him as he walked out of the office, the sudden hiss of the door closing startling him. Had it been that loud when he had arrived? The turbolift took him quickly down to the first floor, stopping with a soft ding that resonated like a gunshot and opening with a slow grind. The lights flickered and dimmed in the lift, shrouding Traven in darkness, and as he peered out of the door, into what seemed to be a completely dark room, he wondered if he had hit the wrong button.

The first floor seemed to be without any kind of windows or lighting, and Traven couldn't even see the hand in front of his face as he stepped out of the elevator, crouching slightly. His heart pounded in his ears as he looked around, spotting the silhouette of crates piles up on all sides. The elevator doors closed, cutting off the only source of light on the floor and leaving Traven in utter blackness. There was the soft sound of footsteps somewhere on the other-side of the crates, followed by heavy panting.

"No...No...No..." Traven heard whispering, repeating the same word over and over again. There was the hiss of a blade being drawn, reaching Traven's ears like a soft caress, before an earsplitting scream echoed through the darkness, before ending with an abrupt choke. Traven ducked instinctively and pressed himself against the crates, keeping himself as quiet as possible.

Soft chuckling reached him, and he could hear the sound of a liquid hitting the floor. Traven's eyes were having trouble adjusting to the darkness, and fear was choking his thoughts. He needed light, and he needed it fast. Before Traven could take another step, he bumped into something, jumping in surprise and moving away, but the figure was already moving, standing and taking Traven by the shoulder.

"What are you doing here?" the figure asked, sounding panicked. "You shouldn't have come here! Why did you come?!"

Traven didn't answer, simply shrugging the hand off his shoulder and stepping back. The figure lurched after him, but it tensed and screeched in pain before it could reach him. Blood spattered onto Traven's tunic and he winced, shaking his head and turning away. What was this place?

Traven heard footsteps behind him and he spun, throwing his arm out on instinct to block an incoming blow from a knife. His hand struck an invisible wrist, and the dagger that had been aiming for his heart was thrown off course, but the figure that was wielding it was still there. A fist collided with Traven's gut, and he stumbled back, straining to see who was attacking him. He moved without the aid of his eyes, catching the incoming wrist once again and holding it at bay, twisting it. A dagger clattered to the floor, and Traven pulled his attacker forwards, slamming a punch into what should have been his chest. There was a soft grunt as Traven's fist connected, before a sharp elbow struck him in the face, forcing him to release his attacker's wrist. He bent down and gripped the dagger in his hand, straining his ears. He heard a soft hiss as another blade was drawn and gritted his teeth. Whoever this was wasn't playing around.

The attack came fromt eh right, without any warning. The blade slipped between Traven's ribs and filled him with a shock of pain, but he reacted instantly, gripping the arm and pulling the figure forward, driving the knife down, into the shoulder. Traven's attacker shouted in pain, reaching to grip Traven's wrist, but Traven pulled the dagger free and stabbed down again, this time to the chest.

Suddenly, flames burst to life several feet away, bathing the area in flickering orange light. The figure in Traven's hands struggled, but Traven was stronger, holding him still. He paused, however, when he saw that he was wrestling with a young boy, barely older than eight.

"Let me go!" the boy shouted. Traven hesitated, feeling an ache from the dagger that was still embedded in his side. With a sigh, he released the boy.

He immediately regretted it.

The boy gripped the dagger in Traven's chest and pulled it free with a maniacal cackle, drawing it across Traven's throat with a flick of his wrist and dancing away, back into the darkness. Traven fell to his knees, reaching for his throat.

The world fell away around him, revealing a completely white void that stretched on for eternity in every direction. There was a figure approaching from the brightness, walking with a happy gait. It was a little girl, probably five years old, and she was running towards him with a laugh frozen on her face. He reached out as she got closer and closer, until their fingers brushed together, and Traven was yanked from the whiteness and thrust onto a battlefield.

Explosions rocked the ground that he was lying on, and he groaned, reaching up to his head.

What the _hell_ was going on?

There was a blaster rifle in his hands, so Traven stood and tucked it against his shoulder, realizing that he was clad in full body armor. There were children his age running around a battle arena with vibroswords and blasters, massacring each other in the center of a large circle. A crowd of people gathered at the edges of the ring, cheering and goading the combatants onto further displays of violence and brutality. Beside him, Traven saw another boy with a blaster rifle, nursing a wound on his leg.

"Hey, Trav, how's that arm?" he asked, as if nothing was wrong at all. Traven looked down and saw a cut on his arm that hadn't been there before. He hadn't even felt it.

In response, he shrugged. "It's nothing. We better be careful."

"Agreed. Help me up and we can get back out there," the boy said. Traven reached his hand down and helped the blonde-headed boy to his feet. He staggered a little, but held his rifle like an expert.

Traven held his head as if it hurt. "I must have taken a hit to the head. What's your name again?"

"Barton," the boy said. "Come on, Traven, let's head over to those rocks."

Traven nodded, and followed his new friend towards a set of large boulders. The arena seemed to be divided into five sections. The center was a large ruin, painted with the blood of hundreds of fallen warriors, and most of the fighting was taking place there. Traven could see that there were weapons lying int eh open all across the ruin, and an armory was still largely untouched in its bowels. Surrounding the ruin were four areas. A collection of rocks, a smooth plain, a craggy cliff, and a dark cave. Traven shuddered at the sight of the open maw, and he devoted his attention to the rocks that Barton was approaching, crouching slightly and cradling his rifle against his shoulder. There were four kids, most of them younger than Traven, hiding int eh rocks, all of them aiming guns at the two approaching invaders.

"H-Hey! Turn around!" one of them shouted. "We don't want to hurt you!"

Barton stopped, but he didn't turn around. He whispered out of the corner of his mouth. "These kids are cowards. Their hiding in here because they don't want to fight, but if we can take the rocks, then we're pretty much set till the final rounds."  
"What's the purpose of this place?" Traven asked.

Barton shrugged. "Entertainment for them," he said with disgust, nodding to the crowd. "I thought you knew this already? You did volunteer, after all."

Traven didn't know why he would ever volunteer for such a thing, but he didn't want Barton to turn on him, since it seemed that the boy was fairly skilled. He shrugged and cocked a arrogant smile. "I only volunteered 'cause I heard that there were blasters in here."

"Let's take these wimps out," Barton said, drawing Traven's attention to the trembling boys that were hiding in the rocks. "Then we'll see how good of a shot you actually are with that blaster of yours."

Traven nodded and crouched down, letting Barton do the talking. Barton lowered his rifle. "We don't want to hurt you," he said. "We just want to hide in the rocks."

He looked over at Traven, who took that as a silent queue to begin some kind of acting. Thinking on his feet, Traven started sniffling and dropped his rifle to the ground. "They...They killed Bert right at the start of this whole mess...I just..."

"It's alright, Trav," Barton said, grinning mischievously. The four boys hiding in the rocks looked at each other, then beckoned for Traven and Barton to come to them.

"But leave your guns out there. We'll send one of ours to get them," the leader of the four shouted. Barton nodded, almost imperceptibly, and Traven made a show of staggering towards the rocks. The moment that they were close enough to the four boys, Barton laughed loudly.

"You kids are so gullible," he said, jumping forward and grabbing the closest one. The boy screamed in terror as Barton held him by the throat, and the remaining three blasters turned to Traven. Traven decided that he had acted for long enough and jumped forward. The shaken boys fired, but their shots clipped harmlessly against the rock face, and Traven was among them, all fists and elbows. Barton, realizing that his hostage wasn't helping him very much, broke the boy's neck with a simple twist and joined the fray.

Traven didn't know how he felt about killing boys that were his age or younger, but it seemed as if it was survival of the fittest in this strange place that he had been taken to, so he fought with all the determination that he could muster. He cracked the neck of the nearest boy, using the limp body as a shield against the blaster shot of the second, before spinning into him with elbows, cracking the jaw and causing him to stumble. Barton took down the boy that was aiming for Traven, and Traven simple fell upon his fallen opponent, wrapping a hand around his neck and getting a decent grip on the jaw. With a quick push, the boy died and Traven swallowed down the bile that rose in his throat, standing and looking around.

"You're pretty fast for a guy with a wounded leg," Traven noted, picking up a blaster rifle and looking to his friend. Barton shrugged.

"I think he clipped me in the side," Barton said suddenly, looking pained. Traven stepped forward in worry, reaching an arm out, only to find himself falling backwards with a rifle aimed at his face, chest aching from a powerful heel kick.

"It's a pity," Barton said. "I actually liked you."  
The blaster went off, and with a flash of red, Traven's world slipped away into the white nothingness once more.

That was when he realized that he must have stepped into a simulator. The little girl that was running towards him was the program loading another scenario. When his fingers touched her, he found himself in a square room, tied to a chair. A bright light was shining into his face, and he felt aches and dull throbs all across his body. As he raised his head and squinted, attempting to make some kind of detail about his surroundings, the door clanged open. Three things became clear.

First, Traven wasn't a welcome guest in this room.

Second, the people that were entering the room weren't his friends.

And third, they wanted something from him.

A fist struck his jaw hard, throwing his head to the side and filling his mouth with the sharp tang of blood. He coughed weakly, feeling the effects of long, painful captivity, but made no other sound. He had been taught to remain as silent as possible in a position like this, but it was one of the few scenarios that the Lordran Academy had been uncomfortable about simulating. It seemed that the SIS would have no such reservations.

Three more blows hit him, two in the side and another to his jaw, this time on the opposite side. He could feel ribs crack under the strikes, but he still remained silent. Eventually, his torturer drew away from him and chuckled darkly. "Still quiet as a dead man," he said in a deep voice. "Soon, you won't have to pretend anymore. Why don't you jut tell us who hired you, and we can make this whole process end a lot sooner."

Traven determined that he had already been interrogated several times before and that he had remained silent in all previous sessions. The problem with simulators was that, once the subject knew it was a simulator, it became a lot less believable, and easier for the person to determine the proper course of action. There had been simulators like these at Lordran, but the scenarios that the Echani used generally didn't end with death if the student failed. Traven let his eyes rise to meet his torturer's obscured face, squinting slightly, but he didn't speak. Another blow struck, breaking his brief eye contact.

"He won't break," the other man said, shifting his feet. "He's too stubborn for that."

Then came the cliché. "Let's see if he cares for the other one that we caught."  
Traven felt confident that he would be able to pass this test, if it was, indeed, a test. He wouldn't have any connection to the person that they would bring into the room, and it would be simple to remain aloof and impassive through the whole ordeal. The harsh light dimmed, allowing Traven his first look at the two men that were standing before him. The one that had beaten him had harsh features and hard brown eyes, greasy short hair and a thin beard, and the other man was a tall, refined fellow in formal wear, watching with an unreadable expression on his face. The doors to Traven's cell opened once again, and Traven determined that the door was using vintage hinges, instead of the more modern sliding versions.

Another man entered his vision, dragging a limp woman behind him by the arms. There was a bag over her face, and her clothes were torn, revealing deep cuts and bruises all across her body. Traven couldn't refrain from wincing when he saw them, but his confidence was still high. The third man was holding a blaster rifle in his arm, and when he pushed the wounded girl harshly to the feet of the greasy brute, he aimed the rifle at the woman's obscured face.

"Recognize her?" the brute asked as he tore the bag from her face. Traven couldn't stop himself from jumping when he saw a perfect rendition of Sasha, the Jedi padawan that he had saved. Her eyes fluttered, and she groaned, focusing the emerald orbs on his face, them on the faces of the three men around her. She shook her head, almost imperceptibly.

Traven began to sweat.

"Tell us who hired you, or she starts losing fingers," the formally dressed man said, gesturing to the armed thug. He nodded and kicked the Sasha-look-alike in the side, forcing her to roll onto her side. She whimpered with pain as her bonds were released and her arm was held forward. She made a fist, trying in vain to avoid the situation, but her fingers were eventually forced to spread out against the floor. The blaster's barrel pressed against her pinky.

"Oh? Still refusing to speak?"  
The blaster shrieked, and so did the woman. Her cry continued on long after the blaster shot had faded, however, and it made Traven wince. All three of his captors noticed this. The blaster switched its aim to her ring finger.

"I'll ask again. Who hired you?"

Traven realized the point of the simulation. He was supposed to resist their attempts to break him and reveal no information. He knew that they were looking for the answer, 'the Republic' or 'Logan Fellsworth.' "I don't know this woman," Traven said quietly.

"Oh?" the formal man, obviously the leader, asked, almost sounding curious. The blaster fired again, incinerating another of the woman's fingers. She shrieked in pain and terror, and Traven closed his eyes. "Then why shouldn't we just kill her?"

Traven watched the armed thug switch his aim to the side of her head, the tear-streaked face turning up to him with the most horrifying look of betrayal that he had ever seen. It made him want to puke. "I don't know. Why shouldn't you?" Traven said slowly, as if forcing the words past his teeth. She was going to die if he told them what they wanted, and if he didn't she was going to be tortured. Traven told himself that he was saving her from torture. The blaster rifle fired, and Traven closed his eyes to avoid the horrific sight. He heard her cries silence, and the soft hiss of the cooling blaster caused shivers to run up and down his spine.

"Are you going to cry now, weakling?" the leader asked. Traven knew he was becoming frustrated.

Traven opened his eyes and shrugged. "Are you getting angry? Does it make you mad that no matter how hard you try, you'll never get a single useful word from my mouth?"

The leader clenched a fist. "Who is she?" he asked, pointing to the body of the woman. Traven almost blanched at the sight of Sasha's face mutilated by a blaster shot like that. It was always so much worse when it was someone that he could recognize.

"Dead," Traven said, trying to sound uncaring. His voice cracked. The knowledge that he actually had felt something for the woman didn't help his torturers now, since she was dead.

The leader stared at Traven for a long time. "We'll find out who hired you," he said. "Whether you tell us or not. Shoot him."

The blaster swung up to his face, and Traven stared into the barrel for the briefest second before the blaster went off and he was thrust back into the whiteness of the loading screen. This time, however, it slowly faded to reveal a square room that was filled with the projectors and receptors of a simulator. The turbolift doors behind him opened, and Logan stepped out, flanked by another, shorter man. Traven appraised the second man, noticing the daggers that were hidden in his boot and combat vest, as well as the harsh scar that extended from the side of his mouth.

"Traven, this is Trauv. He's going to be once of your instructors, and he's also the one that was evaluating your performance in the simulator," the director said. "You feeling alright. Dizzy?"

"No," Traven said. "I have used simulators before. This is not a simulation?"

"No, it isn't," Trauv said. "The drug that allowed your body to perceive the simulation as reality has worn off. You should have been keeping track of time."

"I'll leave you to it, then," the director said, stepping into the lift once more.

When the door had closed, Traven spoke. "I didn't realize it was a simulation until I died the second time."

"Yes," Trauv said. "We have a lot of work ahead of us. You have good basic concepts, but you're too naïve, too trusting, and too revealing. In the first simulation, you died because you hesitated, something that can never happen in the field. In the second, you died because you trusted a stranger with your life, something that, once again, can never happen. In the third, you didn't reveal the information, which was good, but your face gave you away, allowing them to make the process much more painful than it needed to be."

Traven nodded his head. "I don't see how any of those things can be fixed," he said. Trauv smiled, but it was cold.

"Then you have much to learn," Trauv said. "Go see Christine White, floor 7, for a medical check and get some rest. We begin tomorrow, at 0400."


	9. Part 2 Chapter 2

A/N: This took a lot of thought and contemplation to put into writing. Apparently, first impressions can be deceiving.

Chapter 8

Traven had never felt so inadequate in his life as he did when training started in earnest. He found out quickly that it had all been a joke, the 'evaluation' on the first day. The Director was aloof, uncaring, strict, and Trax was worse than Traven had thought he would be during their fight. The first months of training in the nearly empty SIS Academy were all about making him stronger, making him heavier, making him more resilient, making him faster. He was always too naïve, too weak, too cowardly. He didn't measure up, and Trax made sure to tell him at every turn. SIS wasn't anything like Lordran, there was a hard edge to it that hadn't been present on Eshan, and urgency to every exercise that pushed him to excel, to make the Director proud. Somewhere along the line, be stopped thinking of him as Logan, and started thinking of him as the Director, and that was the way that it was supposed to be. That had been the plan all along, despite first impressions

The Director hadn't lied when he said that he would like Christine White, the beautiful doctor of the SIS, but he hadn't told Traven that he would need to see her almost every day, to heal not only the injuries that he had taken during combat training, but also the injuries that he sustained during simulations training. Injuries of a more psychological nature. There was something about dying twenty times in a single day that messed with a person's mind, and Traven had no one else to talk to about it besides Christine, who was always so nice, so calm. It didn't matter how bad he looked when he stumbled out of the turbolift at the same time every day, she would be there, bandaging the deep cuts, fixing the cracked or broken bones, keeping him strong. She was the most important of all of his teachers, since she was the one that taught him to keep going, even when he felt that he couldn't.

Sometime after the fifth month, they started calling him Agent S1, the first, the best. The name Traven was reserved for Christine, and no one else. For some reason, it didn't bother him that much when it happened either. He got promotions, too. From Private to Corporal, from Corporal to Seargent, from Seargent to Lieutenant. Not that it made much difference until the first shipment of 'recruits' came, sine there was no one of a lower rank. Traven hadn't realized the nature of the SIS until they came, either, but he quickly discovered that the Director didn't plan on being only an Intelligence agency. The 'recruits' were all children like he had been. Orphans, teenagers, people that had been forced to grow up too quickly for their own good, with nowhere to go but where they were told, where they knew a warm plate of food was waiting. They hadn't volunteered because of glory or patriotism, but because it was the only way they could get their hands on a warm meal, a bed to sleep on. They had nothing left. It saddened the old Traven, buried deep within, to think that they were going to train these...teenagers to be just like he was. He wasn't hard like a killer, not yet, but he was certainly harder than he had been before, and he was growing more withdrawn with every passing week of training. Eventually, they began sending him on missions.

The Jedi hadn't known that the SIS was so...brutal. If they had, Traven doubted they would have let it happen, but no one knew what went on inside the SIS headquarters beside its agents, and anyone that 'quit' mysteriously died soon afterwards. They had been given a choice at the beginning, and there was no turning back. Traven just hated that he had to be the one to carry out the sentence, using his skills to hunt down people that were practically children, with nothing but fear motivating them, but the Director had given orders, and he had followed them. He had been taught to do nothing else. After all, he was the only agent in the SIS that had completed enough training to be sent on missions, so there was no one else to rely on. So he would kill the runaways, making sure that the other 'recruits' knew what happened to those that couldn't take it any longer, and he forced himself not to feel. He was only following orders, after all.

After the recruits had gone through training, the dirty jobs fell to lesser ranked agents, and Traven was glad. The memories of the young teenagers, no older than he himself, dying at his hand would haunt him for awhile, until there were worse things for him to dream about.

The real missions started when he was sixteen and a half. The missions where he would be sent to another world to blend in, using everything he knew to disappear, watch, and wait. He posed as a mercenary, a drug dealer, or a simple chauffer to a crime-lord. He did anything and everything required to complete a simple mission. He remembered the briefing for the very first mission, sitting in a silver room, with the holoprojector flickering to life. The Director had only met with him in person twice since the first day, and he never did so with any of the other recruits because S1 was special, after all, and he deserved the Director's attention. At least, that was what Traven had been told.

"There's a mercenary group that's causing problems. I want you to find a way to deal with it. Head to Tatooine, that's where they seem to be most of the time, and see what you can find. The name of the group is the Justicars."

"Understood," Traven had said. The briefing was over. No preparation, no other information, just a planet and a name. Traven remembered the mission well, every day of the three and half weeks that it had taken, he had spoken to the Director, gathering intel and sending it back to the headquarters. When he made his move, it was glorious in its complicity, stunning in its brilliance, and utterly unfeeling in its totality. The mercenary group, after receiving permission from the Director, was blamed for the destruction of a huge Hutt freighter that had been leaving Tatooine when it had mysteriously exploded, and their leader, a man named Marcus Stinton, died in combat two days later, a sniper shot through the chest and head. The Hutts decided that the Justicars had served their purpose, and hired another group to eliminate them. During the last week of the mission, Traven hunted down all the high-ranking members of the Justicars and killed them, causing the group to dissolve due to lack of leadership, only to be hunted down and exterminated by the other groups in the Outer Rim. Traven had reported success and returned to Coruscant, uninjured and euphoric.

It had been easy. A simple matter of lying and avoiding attention, putting ears in all the right places and knowing when to play his cards. And it had been fun. The rush that filled him every time that he was on a mission for the mercenaries, killing sand people in the deserts of Tatooine, making drug runs in fast freighters through Kessel, escorting important people through the streets of Nar Shadaa. Traven couldn't wait for the next mission. And so Agent S1 did his duty, training the new recruits and teaching them to survive in the field, going out into the Galaxy for weeks, sometimes months, at a time, killing threats to the Republic or sending information back to SIS. No one knew more about the Republic than the Director did, and no one could do more about it than Traven could. Sometimes, Traven would see Jedi on his missions, trying to stop some conflict or other from occurring, saving innocent lives and thwarting illegal activity. It was interesting when they got involved, especially when they were working against what Traven was trying to do, but he had always gotten the better of them, without them even realizing what was happening. S1 never failed a mission, and he didn't plan on letting a Jedi change that.

That was how it went for a long time. He lied to himself and said that he didn't need friends, that relationships would only get in the way of his missions and his training. The only person that knew him well enough to tell that he was even _capable _of feeling compassion was Christine, and she knew better than to mention with withdrawn demeanor. She remembered when he had returned from a particularly hard mission, battered and exhausted, in the middle of the night, when the rest of the Academy was asleep, stumbling into her wing of the building and asking her is she would help him. What kind of question was _that_, of course she would...

* * *

It had been a year and three months since he had been sent to the SIS by the Jedi, though it felt like only a few weeks. Traven had returned from a mission earlier than he had anticipated, after everything went to hell in a spectacular way, resulting in his cover being blown, five separate cruiser-class vessels being destroyed, all VIP targets being eliminated, and Traven escaping with a stolen shuttle in the middle of the night, not knowing what else to do besides return to the headquarters and seek medical attention. He hadn't slept for almost two days, and the painkillers that he had taken in the escape pod of the third cruiser were clouding is judgment, so instead of reporting to the Director, Traven immediately headed for the one place that he felt truly welcome in: the medbay. The turbolift of the SIS headquarters had never felt so slow to him before as he stood inside, clutching at the wounds in his torso and ignoring the warm blood that was dripping from his fingertips. They hadn't closed, even after the kolto shots had been administered, and Traven didn't know what else to try.

The turbolift doors opened and revealed the dimly lit medical wing, doors lining both sides of the long hall that led to Doctor Christine White's lab, filled, undoubtedly, with injured recruits and agents of the SIS. Traven just hoped that Christine was in her lab, or he might not make it long enough to find treatment. As he staggered through the hall, leaving a trail of blood on the ground, he realized just how cold he was and how badly he had screwed up this time. The mission was complete, but it hadn't been pretty, and Traven was solely responsible for the catastrophic finale to it all. He swayed dangerously when he reached the door to Christine's lab, opening it with fumbling hands and stepping into the familiar florescent lighting, looking around for the doctor and finding her asleep in her office chair, slumped over a datapad. He was loathe to wake her, but there were more pressing matters than her fatigue. Namely, the knife wound that had been delivered aboard the first cruiser, when it had all started, only to be reopened with every subsequent scuffle or twist until now, it refused to even close.

The doctor started when his armored hand touched her shoulder, leaving a red hand print on her white lab coat, and she was standing immediately, grabbing his shoulders to steady him and widening her cerulean eyes. "Traven?" she asked, blinking groggily. Traven smiled cockily at her, like he usually did when he stumbled into her medical bay.

"Hey, doc," he said, wincing at the effort it took to force the words out. "I think...I really did it this time..."

Christine was going to have none of that. Traven had never been relieved of his armor so quickly in his life, and he would have joked about it if he hadn't been bleeding to death. The platinum blonde doctor led him over to the bed that he always sat on when she was treating him, lying him down on his back and leaning over his bared chest, taking in the deep gash in his side and shaking her head. He could see the worry in her pretty face as she scurried about, injecting him with yet another dose of kolto and scanning him repeatedly with a handheld device, frowning when she did so.

"Why are you pumped full of stims and painkillers?" she asked, a sharp tone to her voice. Traven raised his hands defensively, or he thought he did, but she later told him that they only lifted several inches from the bed.

"I've got four cracked ribs, two broken, an injured knee, strained shoulder, a pounding headache, and a shattered index finger on my right hand," he listed, coughing weakly. "And that's only what _I _know about. How else was I going to...finish the mission?"

Christine was not amused. She immediately injected him with a drug that would purge the others from his system, scanning him once more and shaking her head. Once she manage to close the wound on his side, she paused, sitting heavily in a chair beside his medical bed and shaking her head. It took a moment for Traven to realize that she was crying, and he didn't really know what to do about it besides let his head roll weakly to look at her, the long blond locks of hair cascading down over her face like a veil. "You idiot," she told him at long last, putting a hand on his chest and giving him a shove. That hurt, a lot, considering the traumatized state of his ribs, but he didn't even flinch, watching with no small amount of fascination as she shook her head. "I thought I was going to have to zip you up in a bag and send you out with the others that have 'died in the line of duty!'"

Traven didn't know what to say about that. It had been a long time since anyone cared about his survival except for the Director, and that was only because he was a significant investment on the part of SIS. "Hey," Traven said. "You didn't, alright? I'm still sitting here, in pain, and you're still sitting there, refusing to give me drugs."

Christine laughed, shaking her head as she stood. "You went to the Director first?" she asked. "Is that why you're almost dead?"

"Sorry about the mess," Traven said, referring to the pool of blood in the turbolift and the trail he'd left on the way here. "It wasn't that bad in the shuttle..."

"You tore it open six times," Christine said as she pressed gently against his side with her fingers, watching him for a reaction. It hurt, and he winced. "I was surprised that I didn't have to give you a transfusion."

Traven wondered if she should have or not, considering that he could barely move, but he decided not to mention that. "How bad is it, doc?"

Christine watched him evenly for a long while before sighing. "You were right. Three broken ribs, four cracked. But you also cracked your hip, I'm guessing in an escape pod, and your shoulder shows signs of stress. You dislocated it?"

Traven nodded, and Christine continued. "You're organs are traumatized, especially your heart. That many stimulants isn't good for you, at all, and it's put a strain on your system that it wasn't particularly prepared for. Your liver was bruised and intestines were brutalized by the knife wound in your side, but they should be mending with the huge amount of kolto I pumped into you. You aren't leaving that bed for at least two days, you hear me? If the Director wants to interview you, he can get his sorry ass in here and talk to you."  
Traven laughed, immediately regretting it as pain filled him. Christine sighed, looking away from him and wiping her face on the sleeve of her coat. "Well, if that's all..." Traven joked, coughing again. Christine laughed and fell heavily into the seat beside him, watching his bruised face for a long moment.

"You want to talk about it?" she asked.

No. He didn't. But he didn't want to tell her that. He didn't wan to tell her that the reason the mission failed was because he wanted more than anything in the world to talk to someone and not have to lie, how he had simply told a man that he thought to be his friend what he was doing in an attempt to keep him from dying with the rest of the doomed mercenary fleet. And that friend had stabbed him, very literally, and Traven had shot him, straight in the head, walking away as if the man he killed hadn't been the closest thing Traven had to a friend in almost a year. Traven took a deep breath and told her, regardless. There were no secrets between Christine and him, no lies. She listened, patiently, as he explained what had happened, only commenting occasionally, and when he was finished, he stared into her eyes, searching them for the judgmental glint that he would see I the Instructors when a student made a stupid mistake, or the disappointed shake of the head. She did neither.

"Why don't they see that you're just as human as the rest of us?" she said, softly. And that was it. She put a hand on his chest, and she put his hand on top of hers, drifting off onto a sleep born of exhaustion. When he woke, she was still slumped in the chair beside him.

A/N: Please let me know what you think. In more than one word, if possible. (wink, wink, nudge nudge)


	10. Part 2 Chapter 3

A/N: Alright. For explanation, the date in this chapter is 3,963 BBY (the first battles of the Mandalorian Wars), but the battle of Yavin hasn't happened yet, so the Republic dates its year since its founding. Therefore, since the Founding was in 25,053 BBY, the year from the founding would be 21,090 AF (After the Founding).

Chapter 9

Four years. Four long, brutal years had passed since that fateful day on Eshan, when his family had been killed and the Jedi had made a promise that he couldn't keep. Traven didn't know what to think about that, or about the fact that the Jedi had sent him to the SIS so that they could keep an eye on him. He knew that they had been keeping tabs, and he knew that they had found nothing about what his job in the SIS was. He was just surprise that they hadn't approached him about it. It didn't matter now, it was too late for him to quit, even if they asked him too. Agent S1 could never quit the SIS, not until he died or was too old to continue serving. He was the best, and he had to remain that way.

The missions had mostly been in the Outer Rim, dealing with mercenaries and pirates, but Traven couldn't help but report the growing violence that was taking place, the attacks on worlds that weren't Republic and huge fleets amassing in the darkness. He had seen them with his own eyes, and when compared to the fleets of the Republic, it was frightening to think that the Outer Rim had more guns. The Director hadn't been pleased to hear this at all, but despite the SIS's efforts, planets still fell, all along the Outer Rim. It was a war of attrition out there, the Republic trying desperately to keep the Mandalorians from getting any bigger without blatantly declaring war, and the Mandalorians taunting the Republic by raping worlds that weren't under their protection. And now, at long last, something huge was happening in the Outer Rim, but every agent of the SIS was gathering in the headquarters, not standing on the front lines. Traven would have questioned it, once upon a time, but he knew better than to second guess the Director.

The halls of the SIS meeting area were filled with the hundreds of agents. Traven had seen most of them before, since he was a major part in training the new recruits, and he knew that they were capable of almost anything if they put their resources to it. These seven hundred soldiers were the best in the Republic, hands-down, and the Director knew it. Why else would they be gathering here, when war was about to break lose in the Outer Rim? Traven took a seat at the front of the large hall, knowing in the back of his mind that the Director would probably ask for him to stand with him on the large stage when he addressed the agency. This had never happened before, after all, and Traven was a master of things that never happened before. He had been here when it all started, after all. It only took several moments for the hall to quiet down, the Director walking out onto the stage in front of his loyal soldiers and nodding his head as he came to stand at a large metal podium.

The meeting hall had been used as more of a cafeteria than anything else since the creation of the SIS. It had never been used for the intended purpose of informing the entire agency of something important, something that would change the lives of the entire Republic populace, but today, that was all about to change. The seats, with their red velvet finish and soft cushions, were a stark contrast tot eh heavily armored audience, sitting with their rank and name emblazoned on their chests, evidence of battles on their faces and in their eyes. The lights of the meeting hall dimmed as a huge holoprojector displayed an image of the Republic fleet, forming a defensive line around the system of Taris, with huge numbers of battleships and capital vessels preparing their guns for the first major conflict since the Great Sith War twenty years ago. The Director cleared his throat, the sound echoing off the walls of the meeting hall, and he gestured for Traven, the highest ranking SIS agent, to stand and join him. Traven did so, his considerably bulk towering over the old Director beside him as he stood with his arms crossed over his chest, pushing out the golden chevrons that boasted of his rank as Commander, eyes glaring down at the assembled soldiers. He had served with only two or three of the assembled, since the SIS only ever worked alone, but he knew all of them by name, because he had helped to make this possible.

"Today," the Director said. "Using intelligence gathered by this agency, the Republic is gearing itself for a conflict the likes of which hasn't been seen since the Great Sith War ended. The Mandalorians have grown tired of their territory in the Outer Rim and have taken the planet Onderon, a planet that was in negotiations to be made a Republic planet, as a base in Republic space. From its moon, they are launching an attack that will hit Taris within the next few weeks."

Traven knew all of this. He had been the one that had gathered the information, taking it from the dying mouths of several corrupt politicians on Onderon, as well as from a high-ranking Mandalorian general that had accepted his rather hefty bribe. That general, now dead, had served his purpose in giving the Republic the pans for the Mandalorian attack. It was only the first step in preparing for it, however.

"The Jedi have refused to lend their numbers as generals in this war, as they had in the Great Sith War, and the lack of elite special forces in the Republic Armada leaves us at a disadvantage in the face of a fighting force as battle-hardened as the Mandalorian fleet. The SIS has graciously offered its numbers to supplement those special forces. Today, you will be split into squads of four and assigned vessels in the Republic fleet, where you will go and serve until further orders are sent. The commanding officer on these vessels will command you like he commands his own troops. While I will have the final say in what missions you will attempt, he will be able to use you to the advantage of his men in every conflict. The SIS has been called to serve the Republic in a way that I have dreamed of since its creation, and we will do our duty, or we will die."

His words reverberated in the chests of every man and woman present, filing them with a sense of direction that they hadn't felt in a long time, a feeling of pride and determination that could only be described as eagerness. Traven felt a rare smile on his face, and even though they were all looking death in the face, he knew that he wasn't the oly one that was anxious to get out there. This was what the training had been for, what all those missions against mercenaries and slavers had been preparing him for. This was the real thing, and Traven couldn't be more prepared for it.

"Commander Traven S1 will give you your assignments," the Director said, and Traven blinked, looking down at the older man beside him with a slightly raised eyebrow. The Director handed him a datapad with a list of names and their squad designation. "Once you have your assignment, find your squad and head to the front lines. You are all expected to report to your new CO's in three day's time."

It was a tight schedule, but not impossible. As the Director turned to walk away, Traven placed the datapad on the podium and started reading. When he reached his own name, his smile broadened. **Sniper Team Aplha-3**

Commander Traven S1

Lieutenant Raisha S17

Sergeant Kalloway S78

Corporal Burns S102

* * *

Traven was standing in front of the mirror in his quarters, dressed in full combat armor and holidng his sniper rifle in his hand, staring at the face in the mirror. There were scars now, a long white line that ran down from his forehead down to his jaw from a vibroblade, a rough burn scar on the side of his temple from a grenade that went off too close to him, several small nicks and dots from shrapnel that had blasted past him on one of his more difficult missions. Christine had offered to get rid of them for him, but Echani valued scars greatly, and Traven thought that it gave him a look to match the reputation. The short snow-white hair on his head and creamy pale skin didn't quite give off the killer vibe like he often needed to on missions. The only way that people knew to avoid him, usually, was the hard glint in his eyes that you only saw when someone had seen too much death for ti too matter anymore. Traven shook his head, running a hand over his smooth face, putting a finger on the scar and remembering the events that led up to it in perfect clarity. He had scars everywhere. A large one where he had been stabbed two and a half years ago on his side, several smaller ones on his chest and legs, two long ones on his arms.

Where did the boy that had been hell-bent on protecting people, not killing them, the one that had sworn an oath to Svy at Lordran to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, go?

Traven didn't know. With a final glance at his hard eyes, Traven tightened his grip on the sniper rifle and exited his quarters, carrying his bag of casual dress and other assorted weapons in his other hand while holding his rifle against his chest. It wouldn't fit in the bag, and Traven didn't mind carrying it separately. It gave him a look of readiness, and that would garner him respect in the eyes of his squad. At least...he hoped it would. He had never led a squad before, he didn't know what he was supposed to do or what he wasn't, but it was what the Director had ordered for him to do, and the others would fall in line, if not because of the Director then because he was _Traven. _He was practically a legend among the other SIS agents. Traven snorted at the thought, turning and joining a group of ten or so other agents that were waiting for the turbolift, all of them giving him an extra pace or two of space. Several of them even saluted as he approached, but he waved them off with a hand. It was standard procedure to salute a superior officer, but it seemed pointless to Traven, and many of the other SIS agents shared the sentiment. Traven idly wondered if sending them to work under the traditional military was the wisest way to use them, but the Director seemed to know what he was doing. After all, there was a sizable chunk of agents that were staying behind to play spy against eh Mandalorians.

The turbolift doors opened and the agents piled in, squeezing closer to the men and women already in the lift, and as Traven stepped in, pulling his bag closer, it turned out to be quite a tight fit. It was comical, in a way, for a group of elite soldiers to pile into an elevator and sit uncomfortably for several seconds, before the doors slid ope and they all spilled out into the bustling hangar, where all of the agents were scurrying about, loading their ships and preparing to disembark. They only had three days to reach Taris, after all, despite the fact that the journey itself usually took almost five. Traven found his ship, the ship that they would be taking to the _RA Grunt, _a capital ship in the second ring of defenses that surrounded Taris. The three agents in his squad were waiting for him, snapping to attention when they saw him approach. Traven let them stand that way for a moment, inspecting them closely, before waving his hand and opening the boarding ramp.

Lieutenant Raisha S17 was a human, tall with raven black hair and hard gray eyes. Her armor was lighter than most, but Traven could tell it wasn't because she wasn't strong, but because she had chosen for it to be that way. Traven looked forward to seeing her in action. Sergeant Kalloway was a Twi-Lek with deep maroon skin and two long lekku that fell to the middle of his back. He was lean, but Traven could tell that he, also, was very capable. He wouldn't be SIS if he wasn't. He did lack the hardness to his eyes that the rest of the squad sported, and Traven figured that he was most likely going to be more lighthearted than the rest of them. That would be good for morale, at least.

The Corporal, Burns was his name, was an interesting character. He was short, with shocking red hair and an angry-looking face, stocky shoulders and a wide assortment of scratches and cuts on his armor. Traven wondered why the man didn't gt his armor repaired, but he didn't mention anything as the four of them wlaked up the ramp into the ship.

"There's an armory back there," Traven said, pointing to the back of the ship. Raisha whistled.

"Impressive," she said. "My ship only has a footlocker to speak of."  
"A pity, S17," Kalloway said jeeringly as he walked intot eh room designated as the armory. He paused when he saw the assortment of weapons that were lined up in racks, nodding his head as he put his bag down. "Wow. Where'd you get all this S1?"  
"It was a gift," Traven said. "My first ship was destroyed, so the Director got me this as a replacement."

Traven could practically smell the man's envy, and he chuckled, placing his bag beside the rest of his squad and sliding past them, noticing that Burns had been silent throughout the exchange. Traven slid into the pilot's seat and shouted back to his team. "Anybody got anything else they need?"

"All good, sir!" they responded, and Traven closed the ramp. Time to join the bloody queue.

As the ship lifted off the hangar floor and waited for its chance to leave through the large, shielded exit, Raisha entered the cockpit and took her place int eh co-pilots seat. There were actually four seats in the cockpit, surprisingly, but Traven figured that the Director had planned for something like this to happen, which was why Traven had such a big ship when compared to some of the others.

"I don't know how they fit four people into some of these ships," Raisha commented as a particularly tiny vessel floated past them. Traven snorted, shaking his head and pulling up the mission debriefing on the ship's computer.

He just hoped that the file the Director sent to the captain wasn't horribly deprecating.

* * *

Name: Traven S1

Gender: Male

Height: 2.4 m

Weight: 87 kg

General History: Born on Eshan in 21,071 AF, Traven was the son of Valyn Maleesta, a popular politician. The politics led to the death of his family, upon which he was taken by the Jedi due to Force Sensitivity, but denied because of his age. He was sent to the RSIS at the age of fifteen, where he became the very first agent of the SIS, proving to be the best in everything he did. After four years, he hasn't failed any of his 54 separate assignments, and continues to be one of the finest agents in the SIS.

Mission History: He was sent to discover the reason behind a certain mercenary group's aggressive behavior in 21,086 AF...

Captain Gall didn't quite know what to think about the squad of elite snipers that he was supposed to receive within the next several days. The Commander was only nineteen years old himself, and the others weren't any older, and yet they had completed more missions combined than the Republic Armada Special Forces had in the past twenty years. How did the SIS find so many assignments for their agents if there wasn't a war? Gall didn't know. What he did know is that he was grateful to be receiving another high-ranking officer aboard the ship, since most of his crew consisted of Corporals and Privates. It was ridiculous to think that he would be commanding a ship alongside a nineteen year old, but it was what the Admiral had given him to work with. With the Mandalorian Armada approaching the first lines of defense, the Republic Armada was growing wary. They didn't know the size of the enemy they were facing, nor did they have details of their armaments. The SIS had given them approximations of their numbers and movements, but nothing more. The had lost contact with the Flashpoint research station, and had been skirmishing with Mandalorian Forces around Surrja. It didn't seem like the SIS had been entirely correct about the size and force of the Mandalorian forces, considering the stalemate that was being maintained by a rather small number of defenders. The fact that the Republic had even pledged to defend Taris was surprising, yet disconcerting. It was exactly what the Mandalorians had wanted them to do.

The Jedi were another strange part of the war. There was a schism happening in the clandestine order, and a group of Jedi called the Revanchists were starting to come forward, even if they weren't being officially recognized by the Republic military or the Jedi Order. Gall didn't care if they were Jedi or Sith, as long as they were helping the Republic win this 'war' as quickly as possible and return to recovery efforts. But even Gall wasn't stupid enough to believe that was going to happen. There was something strange at work here, something sinister, and no one knew what it was except the Jedi, apparently, but they were reusing to tell anyone why they wouldn't come to the aid of the Outer Rim. Whatever was going on, it was about to lead to a violent conflict, and Gall was going to be prepared, even if the rest of the Republic wasn't.


	11. Part 2 Chapter 4

A/N: I know that the events of the Mandalorian Wars happened slightly different than how I portray them in this story/ If any of you are real enthusiasts and are bothered, please remember that this is AU.

Chapter 10

Admiral Saul Karath knew that this was bad, as he watched the fleet get utterly decimated by the Mandalorian forces. They were fighting on too many fronts, and they didn't have the men or the ships for it, not while they were still recovering from a war just as brutal two decades ago. The battles at Vanquo and Suurja were looking just as bad as the battle at Taris, and he was receiving reports that they were being butchered at Myrkr as well. To rub salt in the wound, the Mandalorians were staging the assault from Dxun, the site of their defeat at the hands of the Republic at the end of the last war. He thought that it was a sick kind of comedy that they would be kicking ass and taking names this time around. It didn't seem like there was anything they could do to stop them. The Republic had already lost almost five capital ships in the past three hours, and a sixth was rapidly losing power to all systems. Karath ordered the self-destruct as the Mandalorian salvagers approached it, watching sadly as it went up in a brilliant ball of flames, consuming the two smaller vessels as well. At least they took the bastards with them.

With a sigh, he ordered the retreat, falling back to Taris' orbit and hoping that they could bring the fight to a stalemate there. It was a misplaced hope, but with the arrival of the SIS troops, he figured that they might be able to hold the fight on the surface, as long as the Mandalorians were too busy to bombard from low orbit. Shaking his head, Saul Karath watched his fleet jump to hyperspace, reports of their losses filling the viewscreens all around him as they ran with their tails between their legs. He could practically hear the Mandalorians laughing at them as they retreated.

* * *

Cathar, 21,090 AF

The first ship appeared out of the dark silk of space, engines flaring brightly as it exited hyperspace several thousand kilometers away from the planet Cathar, the gray world revolving slowly beneath the small vessel as it whizzed down to the surface. It was carrying a band of Jedi that had left the Order to see if the rumors about the Mandalorian's genocide were true, twenty-seven Knights, all of them solemn and filled with foreboding as they entered the planet's orbit, able to feel the residual stink of _death _reaching up to embrace them. The second ship appeared several hours later, in the same manner, engines flaring as the ship fell from hyperspace, following the trail of the first like a mother seeking her child. This vessel was a sanctioned ship, sent by the Jedi Order to retrieve their prodigal knights and bring them safely back for punishment. Ten Knights were on board this freighter, including Master Vrook Lamar, and they were filled with a similar sense of apprehension, the echoes of a thousand silent screams filling them as they descended to the surface, landing a hundred meters away from the first ship, where all twenty-seven Revanchists stood, staring around them at the destruction.

It was a strange thing to see two groups of Jedi, one of them trying to persuade the other to return, the other adamant not to do so, both standing at an impasse in the ashen fields of the ravaged planet, looking at the smoke that was still billowing up into the skies from the cities in the distance. One of the rogue Jedi stepped forward, pointing an accusing finger at the others. Sasha heard every word that he said.

"What would you do about _this_? Let it happen again? How many worlds have to die before the Council will act?" the Knight said fervently, pointing to the scorched ground. "Just one is enough for me."  
Vrook stepped forward, the other knights fanning out around him. Sasha watched them from her place among the Revanchists, wondering why it was so hard for them to realize that the Jedi had to act. They couldn't sit idly by and let worlds be raped, not while they could do something about it. "There's greater things at work than simply the pawns, Jeruth. Can't you see past the obvious? Don't you feel it?"  
"Feel what? Your fear?" Jeruth said, Malak stepping up beside him. The two friends were like immovable pillars of stone, leaders of the group that had followed them here. Now, they all stood, bearing witness to the horror that had taken place on this planet, and still the Jedi couldn't see. "Because that I can feel _that _acutely. The Council is afraid to act."  
"How do you know that encouraging warfare will save anyones life? It will simply endanger countless more!" Vrook said, obviously becoming irritated. The Jedi behind him, however, were looking unconvinced of the Council's decision. "The massacre of the Padawan's on Taris is proof enough that something strange is at work here!"

"The massacre that was caused by fear. Just as fear stopped the fleets that should have been _here _to save this species," Jeruth said. Both Jedi glared at each other over the battlefield, before a glint of metal caught Jeruth's eye. There, lying in the ashes of Cathar, was a black visor, with tinges of red along the 'T' of transparisteel that allowed for vision. He stepped forward, taking the mask in his hands and looking back to Vrook. Every Jedi present was suddenly struck with a powerful vision, the world falling away as the past rushed forward.

_Thunder rolled as the basilisk war droid thundered from the sky, huge metal constructs that struck Cathar like meteors, leaving wide craters and a plume of ash and smoke that obscured the droid from view. From the flames came the huge beast of a war machine,blasting the Cathar warriors away by the tens with its huge cannons, legs pumping as the pilot drove the droid forward. The sound of turbolaser cannons breaking atmosphere echoed from miles away as the ships in orbit bombarded the cities, blasting away the communications arrays and any form of defenses. The old basilisk war droids, the huge hulking metal droids with only one pilot, were easier to fell than the newer models, the ones that reminded the Cathar of clovers, with four pilots inside and a hide that was bristling with weapons. Only one droid fell to the Cathar before the dropships came, unleashing swarms of neo-crusaders upon the Cathar, firing blasters and throwing grenades at their retreating backs. The Mandalorians shot them as they ran, ignoring their pleas for surrender as they cackled in blood-lust, marching through the streets of Cathar's capital city, guns blazing. This wasn't a war, this was a __slaughter._

_ The Cathar tried to fight in the streets, but they only managed to hold the Mandalorians for several hours before the orbiting ships opened fire once more, leveling half the city in a holocaust of flame and causing their own troops to gape in awe as flames kilometers high rose out of the ruins, consuming anything in their path. They continued their march forward, blasting anything that moved. Tear-streaked faces filled the vision, mothers trying to protect their children as they retreated to the refugee ships that were desperately trying to break through the orbiting fleet. Only several thousand of the planet's eight billion people escaped the wrath of the Mandalorians, and they did so in damaged vessels,incapable of taking them more than several parsecs before life-support would fail. Of the ten thousand survivors, only four actually made it to another system._

The vision subsided, releasing all of the Jedi in its grasp as quickly as it had taken them, most of them staggering with the impact of the emotion that had been packed into the fiber of the images. Sasha felt tears streaming down her face as she watched Jeruth take the Mandalorian mask and slip it onto his face, hiding his handsome features as he shook his head.

"This...this cannot go unpunished. I will fight," he said with determination. "I will be called Revan, and I will avenge the innocents that died here. Will you stand in my way, Vrook?"

All the Jedi assembled could see the look of conflict on his face. Here was a tense moment of silence, nothing but the winds howling in the distance to fill ti as Vrook's hand twitched to the lightsaber hidden beneath his robes, but he never drew it, shaking his head. "No," he said. "I just hope you realize the path you're walking, _Revan._"

With that, he turned, walking back to his ship in silence, dust rising from his retreating footsteps. No one followed him back to the Council.

* * *

"S17, move forward. I'm on your six," Traven said, moving closely behind Raisha through a flaming doorway, spotting an enemy combatant and letting of a shot with his sniper rifle, striking the man down with a shot through the head as Raisha pressed herself against cover. Traven moved further, trusting the woman to cover him as he took cover further inside the large building, listening as Mandalorians poured in from the other side, attempting to reach the other side of Taris' Upper City through the skyscraper. Considering that Republic forces were struggling to hold even that small part of the city, Traven resolved not to let any Mandalorian reinforcements pass by him here.

Burns and Kalloway took places on either side of the door, their rifles spitting fire down the jagged expanse of twisted metal, striking targets down with cold efficiency. Traven stuck his gun out, painting a target and taking it down with a single well-aimed blast, followed by another, and another. He was faster than his squadmates, taking down ten of the enemy before they managed to get behind cover, and he grinned widely at the amazed whistle from Raisha.

"Even after three weeks, you still got some fight left in ya'?" she said sardonically, letting of a shot of her own. They were a sniper squad, after all, it was only natural for there to be competition. Traven had to admit that he would have liked to be several hundred meters away while he was shooting targets, but the rifle worked just as well at a moderate range, and it was easier to take down multiple targets in such close quarters. The Mandalorians were tarting to return fire, however, and Traven was forced to be more careful. He still took out three of them in quick succession when they poked their heads out or attempted to move closer. The ring of the sniper shots was endless as his squadmates did the same, filling the ravaged skyscraper with loud reports.  
They had tried to report to the _RA Grunt _as assigned, but it had been destroyed int eh defense of Taris seven hours ago, and the defensive lines that had been set up as far as a parsec out had been all but obliterated, leaving nothing but the last-ditch effort by the exhausted Republic fleets to hold the planet. Vanquo had been lost two hours ago, as well as the Flashpoint research station but Suurja had just been taken by Republic forces once more. The Mandalorians were gathering for a counter-attack at Suurja, and the Republic fleet was seriously considering pulling back to that planet, abandoning their oath to defend Taris.

There was only so much Traven and his squad could do, especially when SIS was taking such heavy casualties. Already nearly twenty percent f the agents that had been deployed were dead, killed by their ship's going up or in combat on the surface of Taris. The fighting in the Lower City had been especially intense. The Mandalorians were using energy shields to ignore blaster fire, and it was allowing them to get close and beat the Republic soldiers down with their vibroswords. The bayonet on the front of Traven's rifle was only so effective against a long, heavy sword. Just as Traven thought it, a Mandalorian charged his position with a sword, forcing Traven to engage in melee, deflecting the vibrosword with the butt of his rifle and impaling the Mandalorian on his bayonet, firing the gun for good measure before kicking him away, watching with amusement as the Mandalorians fired at the corpse. Traven gave a nod to Raisha and returned his attention to the opening in the other side of the building. They had used permacrete detonators to open the skyscraper up, which was a strategic victory for them, had they been able to gt through the breach, but Traven's squad was covering the shuttles that would take any retreating Republic soldiers back to orbit.

Secretly, Traven was hoping for the command to be given soon. He didn't know if they were going to be able to hold this position much longer.

The chatter from the Republic soldiers was quiet, but still audible in his helmet, and it was enough to let him know that they were losing the firefights on the street.

"Nine O'clock! Watch it!"

"Gotcha, Charlie, moving to intercept. Engaging. Cover me."

"Laying down the pain, Foxtrot. Watch your six, you're way out there."

"Wait...wait...pull back! They're coming out of the buildings! Pull..."

Static.

"Requesting orbital support at coordinates zero-alpha coruscant-nine."

"Request accepted. Target is danger close, recommend you seek immediate cover. Firing in three. Two. One. Here it comes."

The ground shook as the turbolaser blasts rained down from the sky, blasting away a good portion of the Upper City streets, along with a good chunk of Mandalorian soldiers. Traven's visor showed that the friendly line of defense was slowly falling back to his position, and that a large group of enemies were amassing several hundred meters to the north.

"Thanks, _Sojourn._"

"That's the last you'll get for at least thirty minutes. Enemies closing."

"Understood."

That was bad news. The only reason that they were even holding the position was because they had orbital control, and if they lost it, then Taris would fall. Sure enough, the Mandalorians began t rush through the ragged hole int eh side of the skyscraper, and no amount of fire from the sniper squad could hold them.

"This is Sniper Squad Alpha-4, we're being overrun. Recommend immediate retreat to extraction point," Traven said into his visor's comm, stepping out of cover and backing through the door, wincing as a blaster shot hit his shoulder, glancing off the armor.

"Roger, Commander. Everyone pull back to the shuttles. Can you hold it, S1?" the General in command asked urgently.

"Yes," Traven replied, falling back through the entrance and tossing the last of his proximity mines onto the ground. Raisha fell into step beside him as they fell back to the shuttles, taking cover behind a series of portable crates that they had brought out of the shuttles. The mine exploded violently, reverberating in Traven's gut and causing him to smile darkly as his enemies screamed.

"You sure we can, Commander?" she asked. Traven shrugged, popping a new energy cell into his gun.

"We have to."

He knelt, not even bothering to take cover, and began to fire repeatedly, one shot every half-second, and every one stuck its mark. He only missed when they started ducking and weaving, but only then it was occasionally. He heard the other three agents fire as well, picking different targets than the ones that his visor marked and taking them out. There was no visible cover immediately in front of the hole in the skyscraper, and that allowed the sniper team to pick them off as they came out of the doors. Traven's visor counted his kills at two hundred, and the rest of his squad was within seventy of that number, all of them rising with every blast of the rifle. The Mandalorians, soon realizing that throwing men into the relentless fire was pointless, tried a more subtle approach by firing their blasters at the squad first, before trying to rush to the nearest cover. It only worked marginally better, and that only until the remaining Republic soldiers returned from a kilometer down the street, the two large bipedal mechs blasting the entrance with enough firepower to deter any possible attacks for several moments.

"Onto the shuttles, now!" Traven shouted, watching as a dropship flew overhead, Mandalorian soldiers jumping out of both sides in droves, slamming into the streets with their guns blazing. A Republic soldier went down a meter away from Traven, blood spattering across his visor and armor, but he didn't flinch, taking down the Mandalorian responsible and puling the metal tags from the body. He would give them to his CO later. The ravaged Republic forces were small enough that it only required three of the twenty shuttles to hold them all, and Traven's squad were the last soldiers on the ground.

"Go!" Traven shouted, standing and backing towards the shuttle. His three subordinates hesitated for a moment, and he nearly growled through the comm at them, keeping the Mandalorians behind cover. "Hurry!"

They obliged, sprinting into the shuttle just as he reached the ramp, taking a last potshot at the enemy before the Mandalorians unleashed hell, clipping his leg and causing him to kneel as the shuttle pulled away. The doors to the shuttle slammed shut, and Traven could hear the sounds of blaster fire pounding against it as the shuttle pulled away from the planet, shaking as it fought against gravity. No one said anything as they approached the retreating Republic fleet, the taste of defeat bitter in their mouths as they nursed their various wounds. Traven shook his head in frustration, now knowing what else to do beside slam a fist into the door. After weeks of fighting and thousands of dead soldiers, they had lost Taris.


	12. Part 2 Chapter 5

A/N: I realize that the battles of the Madalorian Wars were more spaced apart in the lore, even if they all happened in the same year, but I wanted to have a little extra time for...development. So I condensed it slightly.

Chapter 11

The Republic fleet retreated to Suurja, where they fought for the planet a fourth time, only to be defeated once again and sent running to the much more heavily defended system of Serroco. Beaten and bloodied, the fleet attempted to set up military bases on the surface to avoid losing yet another system tot eh Mandalorian attack, but they built their bases next to the major cities to deter the use of orbital bombardment. Surely the Mandalorians wouldn't destroy civilian cities, right?

They were wrong.

Traven hated this war, and he had only been fighting it for one month. He had never failed a mission before it started, and now he'd failed three, all of them ending in the loss of a huge portion f the fleet and another planet slipping from the Republic's grasp. This time, he had been on the surface, on the forefront of the battle against the Mandalorian troops, just as the nuclear missiles fell from orbit, thirty of them, simultaneously destroying every military base and major city on the surface in one magnificent explosion that shook the planet to its very core. Traven _felt _the deaths in his heart, the screams of the millions that had just been silences causing his rifle to waver as he took aim, and he missed his shot for the tenth time in the battle. Gritting his teeth in anger, Traven realigned his rifle and killed his target, shaking his head as he lined up again.

He killed three hundred of them in that battle, and was the only unit for five kilometers that wasn't forced to retreat by the oncoming Mandalorian hordes. Traven wouldn't retreat, not after what the Mandalorians had just done to the city. They were stronger than that. So his squad and fifty Republic soldiers held their position for hours, fighting in thick melees and bloody skirmishes to hold their ground, never wavering in their stalwart defense of the small Republic outpost. Eventually, the Mandalorians stopped assaulting it, opting to attack from range with artillery, but the Republic soldiers just took cover int eh underground portion of the base, waiting until the fire stopped before rushing out again, guns blazing. Traven had never fought for anything so hard in his life, and in the end, it proved to be fruitless, as a shuttle flew overhead to collect the fifteen remaining soldiers and take them to the nearly destroyed Republic fleet. The Mandalorians let them go, whining like an injured pup, back to the Republic to tell them of the slaughter that was taking place.

Traven hadn't moved from the hangar bay since the shuttle had dropped him off, three days ago, the blood that was caked on his armor and the pain from the wounds he had sustained reminding him that he was alive as he stared at the ground, slumped against the far wall. How could they have fought so hard and still lost? In the past month, Traven alone had killed almost two thousand of their soldiers, and his squad had numbers close to seven hundred themselves, and even with such a deadly unit in their hands, the Republic was getting murdered on the battlefield. Perhaps they were just that weak. Traven shook his head, pulling his helmet off and allowing the sweat on his face to dry, slamming the piece of his armor onto the floor beside him and shaking his head.

"Commander?" one of the soldiers asked, approaching. Traven snapped his eyes up, taking in the uniform that barely had any armor on it, and the look of defeat in the soldier's eyes. "The Captain wants to see you, sir."

Traven stood, standing several inches taller than the soldier at his full height, and nodded, taking his rifle in his right hand and rifle in his left as he pushed past the soldier and made his way to the bridge, ignoring the looks he received about his battered appearance. He had taken several nasty cuts in the battle, as well as a blaster wound to the thigh, but he didn't show any signs of feeling it as he walked confidently up to the Captain, standing with his back straight and his shoulders drawn in a soldier's posture as the man turned to look at him. The Captain of the _RA Invulnerable _was a younger man with rusty brown hair and a rough beard, pain in his eyes as he turned to face the Commander that had done more than anyone else on Serroco.

"Commander Traven," he said, smiling. "I'm glad you could respond so quickly."

"Has something happened, Captain?" Traven asked, skipping small talk in factor of knowing what the man wanted.

"Yes, but nothing bad," the Captain said. "A group of Jedi Knights agreed to help us in the war. In fact, the Republic Armada gave Revan supreme command of the fleets when he offered to help up fight. They're really desperate after what happened at Serroco."

Jedi? Traven had to suppress the sneer of distaste. "Interesting," he said neutrally.

"I'm gonna lay it down straight," the captain said, "we're not doing well. The Mandalorians hit us hard and they hit us fast, something we really weren't prepared for when it comes down to it, and we lost Onderon, Vanquo, Taris, Suurja, Serroco, Jebble, Wayland, Myrkr, Nouane, Dagary Minor, Thustra, and Obroa-skai in the northern part of the Republic, but the bastards also attacked us in the south. The hit us at Eres and plunged a straight line all the way to the shipyards of Duros, nearly destroying the whole planet and taking our fleet as salvage. The Jedi saved us down there, which is why the Supreme Chancellor gave that Jedi Revan command of the Armada. In one month, we've lost more than we can afford, and the Mandalorians are going to keep on coming, but this Jedi says he can win it for us. I know you're angry, but I need you to continue serving admirably. You understand, Commander?"

Traven searched the captain's eyes for a long time. He could tell that the man really thought the Jedi were going to change the course of the war, that thy could really make that big a difference when it came down to it. There was no point in Traven dashing those hopes. "I understand, sir," he replied.

"Then I expect you to welcome our Jedi on board when we reach Arkania," the captain said. "That is all."  
Traven nodded and returned to his quarters in the command wing of the capital ship, peeling the bloodied armor off and throwing it to the ground. Sighing, he fell onto the bunk and rubbed the blaster wound on his leg, wishing that Christine was there to patch him up like she always did.

* * *

Traven had been waiting at the boarding ramp of the cargo bay for almost an hour, watching the crew head to the surface of Arkania for some well-deserved time off while the ships were repaired, and yet the Jedi that he had been told to expect didn't come. He was seriously starting to consider the fact that he had lied to them when there was the sound of approaching footsteps, on the boarding ramp. Traven straightened and watched as a robed figure came into view, a hood obscuring his face as he approached Traven, who was watching carefully. As the figure drew nearer, Traven realized that the Jedi was a woman, not a man, and that her gait seemed vaguely familiar to him, but he couldn't place why until she was standing right in front of him, lowering her hood to reveal flaming red hair that he hadn't forgotten, and emerald green eyes that met his just like they had four years ago, in the Jedi temple.

"Greetings, General," Traven said, automatically. Sasha smiled at him, holding out her hand.

"I'm Jedi Knight Sasha Fletch," she said, as Traven reached out to shake her hand, the warmth a welcome feeling to a man that hadn't felt another human's touch for a long time. At least, not a friendly touch. "You are?"

"Commander Traven S1, General," Traven replied, watching her face for a reaction. The first one that he saw was recognition, followed by shock, then curiosity.

"Traven? Traven Maleesta?" she asked, letting go of his hand. Traven shook his head.

"Traven S1, RSIS," he responded. He didn't want to hear his old name; it brought back too many memories. Sasha was obviously confused by this, but Traven moved the conversation to another topic quickly. "The captain informed me that the Jedi have finally decided to help us in the war effort. I will be showing you to your quarters aboard the _Invulnerable._"

Well...safer for him, anyways. He could see Sasha's face darken at his subtle jab at the Jedi Council, but surprisingly she didn't defend them. "Not all of them," she said instead, following Traven to the elevator.

Traven was a smart man, and he knew what that meant. The rumors that he had heard of the Jedi Order having a schism were true, and Sasha was part of the faction that had chosen to help. Traven felt an inkling of respect rise up within him, and he felt compelled to thank her. After all, she would be exiled after the war was over, either by the Jedi or by the Mandalorians, depending on who won. There was an awkward silence between them as neither could figure out what to say, before Sasha sighed. "So how is the SIS treating you, Traven?"

Traven looked at Sasha, who was technically his commanding officer, and corrected her immediately. "Commander," he corrected simply. He saw the confusion flicker across her face for a moment, but it was quickly hidden. No one called him Traven unless he allowed them to, and only Christine had earned that privilege. "It has been...interesting."

Anyone that knew Traven would be able to tel that 'interesting' was the word he fell back on when he was attempting not to offend anyone by stating his real opinion. "Has it?" she said, and Traven wondered what she meant by that.

"I'm sure the Jedi have treated you well," Traven said, wincing as the wound on his leg throbbed painfully. It was starting to bother him now, but only because he was trying to be as tall as he could in the presence of this commander officer. It wasn't because he wanted to impress her with his height and strength, he told himself. Echani didn't attempt to impress people with their physique.

Sasha nodded. "You could say that," she said. Traven watched her features for a moment and decided that perhaps the Jedi hadn't treated her well, but she obviously didn't want to talk about it.

When the elevator stopped on the crew deck, Traven knew that he wouldn't be able to hide his injuries any longer. He wasn't going to be able to walk on it very well, especially now that it was irritated, and he found that out when he attempted to step from the elevator, the wound stinging painfully and causing his posture to droop noticeably as he took his weight off the injured leg. It wasn't something that you could miss if you were watching him, and since he had tried to walk in front of Sasha, she saw it and knew it immediately for what it was.

"You're injured," she said, stating a fact. Traven sucked in a breath through his teeth, quelling the pain and nodding his head.

"Serroco," was his answer.

Sasha's eyes widened when she heard that, and she moved as if to help him, but then seemed to think better of it, standing awkwardly in the hallway before clearing her throat. "Allow me to take you to the medical bay."  
"General, it isn't..."

"I insist, Commander," Sasha said, pulling him up to his feet. They started walking again, Sasha allowing Traven to put his weight on her shoulder without saying anything, and Traven accepting the offered assistance without comment. The cuts along his sides hurt him when he leaned o Sasha, but his leg hurt him when he wasn't, so he decided it would be best to let her continue helping him. He told himself that it was only because he wouldn't be able o walk, and not because he wanted to get closer to the Jedi. This was the exact same thing that had caused the problem on that fateful mission two years ago, and Traven wasn't about to let it cause problems now.

Whe they reached the medical bay, the staff was on leave, and therefore it was empty. The atients had been transferred to the planetary hospital, which left the med bay completely deserted as the two officers walked in, Traven looking around before shaking his head. "This is unnecessary, General," he said, attempting to stop her once again. "The medical staff is on leave..."

"Then I'll fix it," Sasha said, and Traven shook his head.

"General, it would be remiss..."

"Commander, sit down," Sasha ordered him sharply, pushing his much larger frame onto the medical bunk with a hand on his chest and effectively shutting him up. "Now, will you tell me your injuries, or shall I find them myself?"

She was reminding him painfully of Christine, and Traven sighed, closing his eyes. Maybe he could get away with only telling her of the blaster wound. The vibrosword cuts weren't that deep... "Blaster shot to the thigh," Traven said, grimacing as Sasha immediately reached forward, prodding the wound with a finger.

"Fine," Sasha said, pulling him back to a standing position. "Clothes off."

"General," Traven started, trying once more to stop her. Sasha looked at him, with a completely seriour face.

"Is this how well you follow orders, Commander? If it is, then its a wonder you ever achieved such a rank," she said. Traven blinked at her in shock, closing his mouth. "Now, take your clothes off."

Resigned, Traven pulled his shirt off and eased the trousers down his legs, sitting back on the bunk when he was finished and meeting her gaze confidently. Or, he would have met her gaze it she had been looking at his face. She was staring at his chest, blinking twice before shaking her head. "Commander, you said that you were injured in the thigh."

"I am," Traven said, indicating the festering wound on his leg. He should have sought treatment for it immediately, but he had been stubborn about it and hadn't wanted to leave his room. It had gone without treatment for four days, and it wasn't doing well.

"Then what are these?" Sasha said, indicating the deep cut across his chest and the stab wound in his side.

"Flesh wounds," Traven said, shrugging. That wasn't entirely true, considering that the had bled profusely when he had receive them, but they weren't infected like the blaster wound was, and Traven was confident that they would heal.

Sasha shook her head. "I'm treating those too," she said, holding u a hand before he could argue. "You don't know when we're going into combat, Commander, and I need you at your best."

Traven remained silent, watching her as she looked at his leg wound, wrinkling her nose at the inflamed skin. After a moment, she seemed to be considering applying kolto, but decided against it, instead reaching out a hand and touching his wound, looking into his eyes as a cold rush of energy flowed through her hand, rushing across the torn, swollen skin and urging it to knit itself back together, pulling the wound tighter. The pain receded, replaced by a cool rush of sensation as Sasha's power filled the tear, the torn muscles writhing as they were tugged back against each other, skin growing back at an astounding rate to cover the wound as if it had never been there. When the blaster wound was gone, Sasha took her hand from his leg and swayed dangerously, closing her eyes as her breath rushed from her lungs, as if she was just breaking the surface of a very deep pool.

Unconsciously, Traven reached out to steady her with a hand on the shoulder, and when she collected herself, she blushed slightly. "It was faster that way," she said as if she needed to explain herself. Traven removed his hand from her shoulder, watching as she reached her hand out again, but he stopped her this time, holding onto her wrist.

"Just give me kolto," he said. He wasn't refusing treatment, but he was refusing _that _treatment. He didn't want her to tire herself on his account, especially when kolto would do the same thing.

Sasha looked ready to argue, but sighed after a moment, taking a kolto shot from the nearby table. "It'll scar," she said.

Traven shrugged, sitting up straighter. "I have plenty of those already."  
The kolto shot was administered and Traven stood, sliding his uniform back on and standing confidently on the now healed leg. "Will you allow me to show you your quarters, General?"

Sasha laughed at his formal tone, and the beautiful sound caused Traven to smile himself, for the first time since the war began. "Of course, Commander."

* * *

Traven was sitting at the bar in Arkania's capital, holding a shot of some strong alcohol in his hand for a moment before throwing it down his throat and shaking his head at the sting it brought. The warm, calming effects of the drink rushed over him, and it allowed him to relax his tense shoulders, listening to the conversations of the people around him. His squad were sitting around him, talking about something or another, but Traven wasn't paying much attention, his thoughts lingering on the memory of the General's treatment. The cool rush of power flowing over his wound, the way her eyes sparked when she was using it, the relief that had filled him when the wound was healed. It was a strange reunion, when he thought about it, to see someone that he thought lost to him forever and have them treat his battle wounds. In Echani culture, it was a very intimate thing to treat someone's wounds, which was part of the reason that he had refused to go see the doctors of the _Invulnerable _in the first place, but the General didn't know that, did she? How could she? The hadn't seen each other for four years and she dresses his injuries as a first impression? It must have been a misunderstanding.

He was drawn from his thoughts as Raisha elbowed him, laughing when he started, nearly spilling his drink. "What?" he nearly growled, snatching the cup from the table before it toppled and swallowing a mouthful of the bitter liquid.

"So, how's the new general? I heard some of the men talking about her," Raisha said. Traven caught the words that she left unsaid. _She's hot._

Traven blinked, looking at his squadmate's face for a moment before shrugging. "She's a Jedi," he said. "What else do I need to say?"

Raisha seemed satisfied and went back to another conversation, and Traven didn't follow, watching his squad socialize for awhile before standing, throwing a credit chit onto the table and shaking his head when they stood to follow. "I'm going back," he said. "You guys enjoy yourselves."  
When he returned to the ship, he refused to admit to himself that he had been hoping to see the General before he fell onto his bunk and fell asleep.


	13. Part 2 Chapter 6

Chapter 12

Traven was sure that he was the only person awake at 0200 hours, siting in the deserted mess hall of the _Invulnerable, _trying to shake the nightmares that plagued him from his mind. Visions of what he had done during his four years in the SIS, images of the destruction of Serraco, the anger that was welling up in his chest every time he thought about it. He couldn't stand it. So he had come to the mess, made himself a cup of strong coffee, and was sitting in the corner of the dimly lit hall, nursing the warm mug in his hands and staring aimlessly at the table, thoughts wandering to all the darkest places in the world. He didn't like shore leave, especially after something as ridiculous as Serroco, but he wasn't the one in charge, and the ship had been damaged. So he got to sit while the rest of the Armada fought a battle one system over, in Omonoth. Traven shook his head. Maybe he would contact Coruscant...he was sure that Christine was worried that he hadn't contacted her in three months. Or maybe she didn't care, now that he wasn't her responsibility.

Traven noticed the doors to the mess hall open, watching curiously as a tired figure walked through, rubbing her temples as she made her way to the same machine that Traven had just visited. He took a sip of the rich coffee and waited for her to notice him, which didn't take very long. Sasha blinked groggily and looked at him, taking her cup off the machine's tray and blinking.

"What are you doing up?" she asked.

Traven shrugged. "I could ask the same."

"I asked you first," she shot back, walking over to his table and sitting across from him. She was only wearing the inner part of her Jedi robes, and it wasn't nearly as modest as the thick cloak was. Traven adjusted his eyes so that they weren't focused on the bottom of her V-neck and shook his head.

"Couldn't sleep," he said as an explanation. Sasha blinked.

"Duh," she said, smirking. "Why else would you be sitting here drinking this grog?"

It wasn't that bad. It was better than the stuff at the SIS headquarters, at least. Traven only shrugged, then focused his eyes on her emerald irises. "Why are you up, General?"

"There was a great amount of thinking going on in the room next to mine," she said, chuckling. Traven didn't realize that she was talking about him until he remembered that their rooms were adjacent. He frowned.

"Sorry," he said, tapping the side of his head. "It won't give me a rest, sometimes. You should go to sleep, General."

"Are you telling me what to do, Commander?" she asked him playfully, grinning. Traven didn't quite know what to say to that, so he quirked an eyebrow and remained silent. Sasha sighed.

"This is going to happen every night, isn't it?" she asked him seriously.

Traven placed his mug on the table, the steam rising from it and moistening the skin of his cheek as he leaned forward. "If it would please you, I could request that your room be shifted, General," he said, watching her expression. She looked away quickly.

"It's fine," she said. "I'll just...get used to it. I'm not used to people that project so loudly."

Before Traven could censor it, his mouth was giving a suggestion. "You could always teach me not to."

"Is that a request?" Sasha's eyebrows raised. Traven attempted to backpedal.

"Well," he said slowly. "I don't necessarily like people hearing my thoughts."

Sasha nodded, then grinned. "Got something to hide, Commander?" she teased. Traven tensed. "Just don't give the mind-reader anything interesting to see."

Traven was silent for a moment, taking the last drink of his coffee before holding the warm cup in his hands. "Thank you for yesterday, General. I was afraid I was going to have to let some stranger fix my leg," Traven said, watching her closely for any type of reaction that would tell him whether she had known what she was doing or not.

He was unable to tell. "You're welcome, Commander," Sasha said simply, smiling. Traven's eyes were drawn to her full lips. "Do try not to go a week without treatment next time."

Did she know what 'you're welcome' meant, or was she just being polite? Traven shifted in his seat, staring down at the empty coffee mug in his hands. "So what has you so...conflicted?" She was referring to his emotions.

Conflicted. That was one way to put it. Traven looked up at Sasha for a moment before shaking his head and standing. "If you don't mind, General," was all he said as he walked away. He didn't see the disappointed look on her face as he returned to his quarters and tried to get some sleep. He was lucky that he got another two hours.

* * *

Traven stood on the bridge's observation deck, a few paces behind and to the left of Sasha as the captain ordered them into red alert. They were heading to assist with some border skirmishes several parsecs to the North, where they had received a distress call from a patrol that had been sent out twenty hours ago. They dropped out of contact four hours ago, and the _Invulnerable _was being sent with two smaller, cruiser-class vessels to investigate. The huge capital ship would be enough to scare away any possible attackers, and if they were brave enough to attack then the hangars were full of fighters that could be launched at a moment's notice. The bridge was a bustle of activity as officers monitored every system o the vessel, every fluctuation of pressure and change in temperature being monitored either by the extensive computer system, or the hundreds of officers that were arranged throughout the bridge,beneath a catwalk that led to the observation window.

Traven could tell by the tensity of Sasha's shoulders that she was apprehensive of her first mission as a General, but it would be relatively simple, and Traven made a silent vow to come to her aid if she required it. He wasn't the most experienced with leading people into battle, but he knew a lot about warfare, and his knowledge would come in handy. The capital ship exited hyperspace with a subtle tug, revealing the shattered remains of the patrol that the Republic had sent floating in space, still sparking from the destruction that had been delivered to it by raiders. Traven almost thought that there was nothing in the area, feeling almost relieved that they wouldn't actually be going into combat, but the hopes, however small, were dashed when an officer piped up.

"Ships inbound," he said. "One capital, five cruisers. They have an Interdictor, General."

They were outnumbered and trapped, in other words. The captain turned to Sasha, wondering what she would do, and Traven could see that she was deep in thought. The Jedi trained their people well in the arts of logic and deduction, so Traven didn't think that she would have much trouble applying that to the battlefield. When she stood straight and started barking orders, he nodded approvingly.

"Tell our escort to take evasive actions, stay at max range. We don't want to lose any ships if we can avoid it. We can't go anywhere, so scramble some fighters to pull their firepower away from us and start shooting. Aim for the little guys first, but focus on the closest," Sasha said, the chorus of affirmatives following the command echoing across the bridge. The two cruisers immediately started to move, fanning out and opening fire at the approaching Mandalorian ships. There was an Interdictor cruiser, two Vestige-class warships, and two powerful looking blocks of a starship that was bristling with weapons. They weren't going to be running form this conflict.

The mos worrying part about this all was the capital ship. It was shaped like a huge triangular dagger, with a tractor beam and a hull that was practically armored in turbolaser mounts. The _Invulnerable _opened fire, blasting away at some of the smaller ships, but the enemy capital ship was going right for the jugular, so to speak, aiming for the capital ship. There was no running away, now with the Interdictor cruiser scrambling their hyperdrives. One of the Mandalorian cruisers went down in a blaze of glory, hitting the shields hard with a volley of rockets and turbolaser fire, and Traven winced. They wouldn't last long against these ships, especially I the exclamation of surprise that he hard behind him was any indication of the hit that their shields had taken.

"Shields at sixty percent. We can't take another hit like that!" the oficer said. Sasha was starting to look flustered, so Traven lent his advice.

"Launch more fighters," he said, soft enough that only the captain and Sasha could hear. "Drive the cruisers away with a defensive swarm."

She repeated his order without hesitation,obviously believing that it was a sound plan. Minutes later, a cloud of fighters had spilled from the hangar bays, nearly destroying one of the Mandalorian cruisers before it could pull away. It limped out of range of the _Invulnerable's _cannons, leaking atmosphere and sparking from several hull breaches. The fighters returned to their defensive sweeps as the enemy capital ship unleashed its own fighters, the blaze of swarming warships appearing like so many insects buzzing around in space. Traven waited for Sasha to give further orders, wincing slightly when one of the friendly cruisers went down. He could see that she didn't know what to do, but he didn't want to embarrass her in front of the captain. Eventually, he knew that something had to be done, or they'd lose the other cruiser and perhaps the _Invulnerable. _

"Send my team to the capital ship. We can reach the bridge and disable their systems, or even take out their hyperdrive," Traven said. Sasha turned to him, furrowing her brow.

"Commander? There's several thousand crewmen on board that ship," she pointed out. Traven nodded.

"I am aware, ma'am. My team can do it," he said quickly. "Just give us the word, General."

The captain turned, looking equally worried, but Sasha sighed, nodding her head. "Do it. I'll establish a comm link to your helmet for updates."

"Aye, aye," Traven said, spinning on his heel and making his way quickly to the hangar, where his squad was sitting, fully equipped, next to Traven's ship. As he approached, they snapped to attention, and Traven took his helmet from Raisha, slamming it onto his head and twisting it into the seals on his armor.

"We have orders," he said, opening the boarding ramp. "There's an enemy capital ship, Destructor-class, and we're going to disable it. Prime objective is the bridge. If we can reach it and shut down their shields, then we'll save the _Invulnerable _and her crew. If there's too much resistance, we'll divert to engineering and blast their hyperdrive, which will take down the whole ship."

It was genius in a simple way. The bridge was on the opposite side of the ship as the Engineering deck, so if they diverted soldiers to defend the bridge, it would leave the engineering deck unattended. The squad looked uncertain, however, so Traven clapped Raisha on the shoulder, speaking to all of them. "This is what we've trained for," he said earnestly. "Get your assault rifles ready and wait by the hatch, I'll get us onto their ship."

"Yes, Commander," they replied, and Traven pushed past them, sitting in the pilot's seat and contacting the bridge.

"This is Commander Traven S1, en route to target," Traven said, powering up the engines and rocketing out of the hangar bay, into the swarm of fighters that were clashing outside. The auto-targeting cannons opened up on the hostile fighters, keeping the ship relatively safe as they made their way across the distance to the huge capital ship. It was almost two and a half kilometers long, and the hangar bay doors were large enough to fit a whole cruiser inside.

"Their shields are up," Sasha said, and Traven grinned, targeting with powerful concussive missiles.

"Not for long," he said, aiming for the two shield generators and firing, one missile each. He gunned forward the thrusters, feeling the whole ship jolt as it increased in speed, nearly keeping up with the two missiles. As the ship neared the shields, Traven couldn't help but flinch, knowing that if his timing was off by a half-second, then they would get squished against a field of energized particles. The missiles struck, the shield collapsed, and Traven's ship blasted into the hangar, the screaming forms of several Mandalorians slamming into the hull as it put its struts down, huge blast doors slamming shut behind them. Traven lowered the boarding ramp and heard the gunshots, watching from thd cockpit as three Mandalorian soldiers fell, clutching their chests.

"S1? Are you in?" Sasha asked, worry creeping into her voice.

"Affirmative. On our way to prime objective," Traven said, rushing to the armory and grabbing two huge permacrete exploisves, slinging them over his shoulders and hefting the assault rifle. When he descended the ramp, his team had already cleared the immediate area.

"I've sent your visor the area schematics," Sasha said, and Traven nodded as the map appeared n his screen.

"Follow me," he told his squad, bending his knees and tucking he assault rifle against his shoulder, immediately taking down two Mandalorian soldiers that were rushing out of a large doorway. The elevator that would take them to the bridge's deck was three hundred meters down the main hall, fifty meters to the right, and twenty meters forward. Traven just hoped that the whole ship wasn't waiting for them when they got there. As the doors to the main hall opened, and the squad opened fire, easily clearing it of anything alive, Traven felt as if they had a chance. He didn't know what had come over him, volunteering for his, but he had done harder missions, and this was a chance for him to prove how useful the SIS squad was. Several platoons of Mandalorian soldiers ran out, taking cover behind the ship's automated defense systems and firing at Traven and his comrades. They fanned out automatically, taking a kneel and peppering the other end of the hall in fire. Traven, never ceasing his stream of blaster bolts, raised a fist and ordered Burns forward.

The Corproal did so immediately, pressing his back against a crate and taking a deep breath before vaulting over it, bashing the first Mandalorian he saw in the helmet with the butt of his rifle and impaling the other on a bayonet. The Mandalorians tried to shift their aim to fire at Burns, but Traven and Raisha also jumped the crates, using the lull in fire to bring things to melee. Several Mandalorians drew vibroswords.

"Blades!" Traven warned, tripping a Mandalorian with his foot and crunching his bayonet through the chest plate, hearing the loud exclamation of pain from the man on the ground before he fell still. Without pause, he tore the blade from the body and blocked an incoming swing, firing to distract his opponent before grabbing the shoulder plate of his armor and spinning him around, stabbing his back and throwing him forward. Traven shot the back of his head for good measure. Something inside Traven relished in the rush that filled him, and he smiled behind his helmet, euphoria rushing through him as he moved onto the next opponent.

"Lieutenant!" he cried after five minutes of continuous fighting. Raisha grunted in response finishing off her opponent with the long combat dagger in her hand and using the assault rifle in the other. "We need to move!"

Traven knew that the bridge of the _Invulnerable _could hear everything that was going on through the comm, and his strained tone was probably worrying the whole crew, but he didn't have time to worry about it as he blocked a blow from one Mandalorian, only to take a swing from another, the chestplate of his armor cracking audibly from the blow. Raisha was there, blasting both of the assailants away and patting Traven on the back.

"Do I have to save your ass _all_ the time?" she joked, and Traven grunted, hefting his rifle and moving forward, Burns falling in beside him. Kalloway, coating in blood from the helmet down, shook his head as they took off at a reckless sprint, firing at anything that moved.

"Toss a grenade through there," Traven indicated the doorway tot eh barracks," and a proximity mine there."

The orders were followed, and seconds later both explosions shook the hallway, blowing the legs clean off of two approaching Mandalorians and splattering a whole squad of them onto the walls of the barracks. Traven grinned and kept moving, trusting his squad to guard his six as he focused on threats coming from the front. They were reaching the turn. The Mandalorians had obviously been alerted to the attack, however, and were bearing down on them in force. Traven knew that they had to just punch a way through the oncoming regiment and hold the elevator untilt eh doors closed. It would be dangerous, but it had to be done.

"When we round that corner, use everything you've got, you hear me?" Traven asked his squad urgently, feet pounding as they approached.

"Yes, sir!" the shout came.

"We punch right through. Don't stop and fight, just kill and move on," Traven said, not having to elaborate further. Then they rounded the corner.

The Mandalorians obviously weren't expecting their enemies to sprint into their lines, so the initial reaction was a bit sluggish, but one the four soldiers were in the midst of them, the Mandalorians bore down, drawing blades and bayonets and trying to pin them down. Traven ran headfirst into the first Mandalorian he saw, throwing him back against his friends and disorientating the whole group before he unclasped a grenade and tossed it, firing his rifle randomly in front of him as he pushed forward, knocking a bayonet aside and returning it to the ribs of the attacker.

"Frag out!" he shouted, and his squad dove into the ranks of the Mandalorians at the last second. Traven's rifle was struck hard with a vibrosword, slicing into the firing mechanism and busting the thing permanently. With no time to think, Traven rammed the rifle into his attackers helmet and grabbed the hilt of the sword, twisting it out of the man's grasp and impaling him on it, pushing him off with a foot and twirling the sword. The weight felt _right _in his hands.

"I could get used to this," he muttered as he blocked a horizontal swing from the soldier directly in front of him, impaling the man on the vibrosword before yanking it free and slashing the arm off of another. It was a bloodbath, brutal and unforgiving. Traven and his squad broke through the mob of Mandalorians, leaving a grenade as a parting gift. As the elevator doors closed, a burst of blaster fire shot through the gap and struck Traven's chest in three places, burning his chest and causing him to stagger.

"Commander!" Raisha exclaimed, steadying him with a hand on his back. Traven shrugged her off.

"I'm fine," he said. He wasn't. He had sustained several wounds during the melee, and the blaster shots were only making his condition worse. He tried to divert her attention. "The bridge is a straight shot forward one-hundred meters."

"They're going to have a lot of people waiting for us," Kalloway said, shifting nervously. Traven grunted, straightening his posture despite the pain in his body and looking around. Raisha was still watching him aniously, as if he could fall over and die at any moment. He probably would have, if he had taken any more shots.

"Throw all the grenades you have the moment the doors open," he said. "that should clear it out long enough for us to make it to the bridge."  
"Where's your gun, Commander?"

"Lost it," Traven said dismissively, lifting the vibrosword. "You'll have to compensate. Once we're on the bridge, there's no room to use blasters, anyway."

"We need to get you a shield, Commander," Burns said earnestly, and Traven shrugged.  
The elevator pinged just before the doors opened. There was a storm of blaster fire form the waiting Mandalorians, but it stepped the moment that the grenades went off, shaking the entire hallway as a cacophony of screams and explosions deafened everyone nearby. Traven was struck once more by a blaster shot, but he simply swore explosively and kept moving, into the cloud of smoke. There were soldiers attempting to crawl away from the elevator, missing various limbs or injured by shrapnel, but Traven ended them as he passed, keeping every engagement short and succinct. The one-hundred meter dash to the bridge was relatively easy after that, and the fight inside was bloody and brutal. Traven, hampered by his wounds and tired, was nearly killed by a Mandalorian with a vibrosword, but Raisha had his back, taking the man down at the cost of taking a swipe to the gut. It didn't cut much deeper than her armor, however, and Traven knew that she would be fine.

"Lock the doors," Traven barked, clutching at the command desk to hold himself upright. Raisha saw this and moved closer, standing close to him and inspecting the wounds through his battered armor. "Dammit..." he swore as dizziness washed over him, followed by sharp pain.

"Here," Raisha said, under her breath. It was a pointless exercise, since the other two men were linked to their comm channel, but Traven didn't mention it. "Use this. Let me take point."

"You got it," Traven said, taking the kolto shot from her hand and stabbing his thigh with it. Immediately, he felt the painkilling effects wash over him, and straightened slightly.

"You're going to need new armor, Commander," Raisha said, trying to lighten his mood.

Traven looked down at the three holes in the chestplate, as well as multiple cracks and cuts from vibroswords. "It was getting old, anyway."

Kalloway was working his magic on the console for several minuted before the shields died. The guns weren't controlled from the bridge, so he couldn't do anything about that, but as the entire ship rocked beneath their feet, Traven figured that it didn't much matter.

"Alright, get out of there," Sasha said. "Their shields are down."

That was going to be a problem. Traven looked around, seeing Burns nursing a wound to the shoulder and Kalloway wincing and favoring his left side. Raisha was the only one that wasn't gravely wounded, and she still sported a cut to the stomach and several blaster burns. "We can't fight our way back," Traven said. "Aim to disable and move on."

"Aye, sir," Burns said immediately, sounding relieved. Traven though it strange that he was the only one that responded, but he trusted the other two to understand his orders. They had killed enough Mandalorians for a couple days, at least.

Traven limped to the bridge's entrance and listened for the sounds of Mandalorians on the other side. There were running footsteps, but that was it. "They've got bigger things to worry about than catching us," Traven said. "There's probably a platoon waiting. I'm sure we can make it through."

"I'll take point," Raisha said, a little forcefully. Traven stepped back to let her slide in front of him, before nodding to Burns. The door clicked and slid open, and Raisha moved forward. Surprisingly, there were only four soldiers waiting for them, and they didn't last more than several seconds against the precise gunfire of Raisha and Burns. Kalloway fell in beside Traven, and they rushed back to the elevator. The ship's systems were starting to shut down, and it was shunting energy to life-support to keep the air breathable, but Traven knew that it wouldn't belong before the ship was destroyed. If they didn't get to the hangar quickly, then they'd get spaced along with the Mandalorians. The squad staggered into the elevators just as Sasha contacted them.

"Commander, you need to get off that ship," Sasha said, voice ringing with authority. "They've taken hits to the engineering deck."

That was bad. The elevator couldn't get them down to the hangar deck fast enough, and when it did, they burst from the opening doors like shots from a cannon, bowling over the soldiers that tried to stop them. When they reached the hangar, Traven collapsed against the wall of the ship's interior, only half-listening to Raisha as she took control, piloting the ship up and towards the huge blast doors. It took ten missiles to blast a hole big enough for them to fly through, and the moment that they slipped out of the hangar, the spine of the huge triangular capital ship burst in a brilliant white explosion, cracking the ship down the middle.

Kalloways injected him again with kolto, watching him with brotherly concern, and it stopped most of his bleeding, but he still felt rather weak. He didn't know which wound was sapping his strength so much, and he didn't really care, because they had saved the _Invulnerable _and destroyed a capital ship. All in a good day's work.


	14. Part 2 Chapter 7

Chapter 13

Sasha watched from the bridge as the remaining cruisers jumped to hyperspace, no doubt shocked at the loss of a capital ship that size, and a thin smile worked its way onto her face. She forced her worry for Traven and his team down as the fighters returned to their berths in the hangar, turning to the captain and shaking her head.

"Casualties?" she asked, not wanting to hear the answer.

"The cruiser," he said, "and seventy fighters. That's five hundred-seventy crewmen."  
The number was bad, but it wasn't nearly as bad as what the Mandalorians had sustained. Nearly ten thousand men worked on a capital ship the size of the one that was now floating, snapped in two by the _Invulnerable's _guns. Sasha shook her head. "You'll send a report to the Rear Admiral?"

"Of course, General," the captain assured her.

Sasha nodded. It was the captain's ship, so he would be the one to order the crew onto their new heading, as well as file the report with Read Admiral Karath. All that remained was to return to finish the patrol that the unfortunate victims of the ambush had been running, and request that a salvage team make their way to the site of the battle. There were billions of credits worth of scrap metal and weaponry simply floating here, it would be such a waste to let it go unmolested. The Mandalorians might actually send a fleet to retrieve the wreckage, if they felt that the advantage was too much to simply hand the Republic. Sasha doubted it, however, since the didn't know how they had lost their other capital ship exactly, other than the shield's going down. They wouldn't risk any other ships until they could make sure they wouldn't lose any others. The cruisers that witnessed it probably thought the Republic had developed some kind of superweapon.

Traven and his squad had certainly been akin to a superweapon in that battle.

Of course, Sasha knew that he had been wounded, gravely. His second wouldn't have expressed such concern over him and taken command if he had been fit, but the exact severity of his wounds had never been stated. Sasha wondered if he was going to let the medical team look at him, or I he was going to be a typical Echani and refuse treatment until they found a doctor that he trusted. If he tried to pull any of that, Sasha would go to his quarters and force him to let her do it, if not the medical team of the _Invulnerable. _It was illogical to let wounds fester just because he ha a cultural obligation to know the one dressing his wounds. For such a warlike species, the Echani had the strangest customs.

Of course, Sasha would gladly dress his wounds if he needed her to. She wasn't going to let him kill himself because he was an idiot, even if he wouldn't admit it to himself. All the thoughts about Traven's injury caused Sasha to stand a little straighter and prepare herself to boss the intimidating man around, if it should come to that. "Captain, should I send a medical team to the hangar bay?"

The man turned, looking confused for a moment before realizing that she meant Alpha-4. "I'm sure they'll seek treatment if they're wounded, General. You can always go down yourself, if you want to make sure."

"I think I will," Sasha said. The captain nodded.

"I'll let them know you'll be waiting for them," he said. "Remember to thank them for saving my ship."

Sasha merely nodded.

* * *

Traven was feeling a lot better when their ship finally docked with the _Invulnerable. _At least,t hat's what he told himself. He even managed to stand up without anyone's assistance. He would let the doctors take care of his squad before going to see them himself, since his wounds weren't that serious.

It was a lie.

Traven sighed. There was no use deceiving himself, even if it did help when he was trying to convince others. He knew that there were two people that wouldn't let him refuse treatment. And both of heir names ended in 'sha. Traven had kolto in his room, and he knew how to dress his own wounds, however, and he wasn't dying. There was no need to let someone else do it for him. With a determined grimace that _wasn't _born of pain, Traven decided that he would make a quick escape to his quarters. When the ship shuddered to a halt and the landing ramp lowered, however, he knew that there was no chance of that as the General herself approached, eyes widening slightly at his appearance.

He felt like he needed to defend himself already, and he hadn't even done anything yet. "General," he greeted, forcing himself to rid his voice of the paint that was washing over him.

"Commander," Sasha greeted, watching as Burns, Kalloway, and Raisha followed Traven down the ramp. Before Sasha even had a chance to speak Raisha was urging Traven to go to the medical bay.

"Commander, you're soaked in blood. At least let them take a look at you," she said. Sasha noticed that she avoided touching Traven, even though it looked like she wanted to take his arm and drag him to the med bay. Traven shrugged noncommittally.

"I'll go see them after I get m armor off," he lied. They all knew it. Even Burns and Kalloway snickered. "What? It's not _my _blood."  
"Not _all _of it," Burns said.

"Come on Commander," Kalloway said, smirking. "You can't refuse treatment from every doctor simply 'cause you don't know them. Christine's a long ways away, you know."  
It seemed like Traven's squad knew about the Echani stigma about dressing wounds. Sasha wondered idly how they had found out. "Stuff it, Kalloway," Traven said, not looking amused. "I'll be fine. _You _need togo."  
The Twi'Lek was looking a little worse for wear, now that Traven mentioned it. His usually vibrant crimson looked a little more pink to Sasha, and he was unsteady on his feet. Reluctantly, he allowed Burns to lead him away, leaving Traven with Sasha and Raisha to contend with.

"Commander," Raisha said, warning in her voice.

Sasha decided that she would step in. "I'm sure he's fine, Lieutenant," she said, smiling. Traven blinked and looked at her in surprise. She joked, "I'll walk with him to make sure he doesn't collapse."

"Many thanks, General," Raisha said, eyes twinkling mischievously as she walked away. Traven glared at her back as she left, then turned to Sasha.

"Thank you," he said earnestly. "I don't think I would have been able to get her off my back for hours."  
"It was nothing," Sasha said, a little too sweetly. Traven watched her suspiciously for a moment, then started walking, Sasha falling in beside him, watching his every move. She could easily see that he was hiding a limp. Most of the blood on his armor had dried, so Sasha had no reason to think that he was going to keel over on the way to his quarters, but she definitely planned to do something about those three burns on his chest once they arrived. Of course, she wasn't going to humiliate him in front of his squad; that wouldn't have been a very good way to make him talk to her. If he thought that she was going to let him handle that many wounds by himself, however, he was sorely mistaken.

When they reached his quarters, Traven opened the door and stepped inside, noticing that Sasha followed him, closing the door behind her before turning to him.

"General..." he started, about to try and weasel his way out of it, but Sasha shook her head.

"Don't 'General' me, Commander," she said. "Have you seen yourself?"

Traven blinked at her, before sighing and reaching to the clasps of his chest plate. "No, I haven't. Is it that bad?"

Sasha hid a smirk behind her hand and nodded. "Consider it thanks for saving the ship," she said, helping him with the armor on his back. The clothes he had worn beneath the armor were completely ruined, soaked in blood and burnt in multiple places. The wounds on his chest were severe, but they hadn't disintegrated the ribs like the wound she had sustained on Eshan all those years ago. Sasha supposed she should be thankful for the little things. Sasha blushed slightly when he undressed down to his underwear as if she wasn't standing there, before turning to her with a resigned expression on his stoic features, and holding his arms out.

"General," he said in way of giving permission. Sasha shook her head. Echani may not have any qualms about undressing in front of people, but Sasha certainly did, and his body, wounded or not, was making her flustered.

She decided that it might be best if she focused on what she had forced him here to do, and stepped forward, inspecting the weeping burns on his chest. They weren't bleeding that much, but it was enough for her to know that they must hurt. Sasha noticed all of the scars that marred his flesh, and wondered where he had gotten them, but she shook her head and diverted her attention, once again, to the cuts all along his arms and sides. They were shallow, but still painful. The worst was a stab wound about an inch thick in his side, only a few inches below a scar that looked almost the same as the current wound. He probably had some internal trauma as well, but Sasha decided that she would fix the visible wounds first, reaching a hand out and channeling power into the burns on his chest.

She felt his uncomfortable at the use of the Force, but she didn't want to use conventional method on burns, since they left nasty-looking scars and hurt worse than anything else. If he wanted to keep his other scars, fine, but enduring weeks of pain for burns was unnecessary. When the burns had closed, Sasha looked around.

"Where do you keep your medical supplies? I assume you treat your own wounds most of the time," she said. It was a statement, not a fact, and she saw his eyes watching her closely. She had given him a hint that she knew, and it was very apparent that he had gotten it.

"Under the bunk," he said, and she retrieved it with the force, opening it and pulling the alcoholic wipes out.

She smiled up at him. "This'll hurt."  
He barely even tensed as she swiped his cuts with the wipe, cleaning them of any filth that had been on the Mandalorian blades. She could feel his muscles rippling beneath her hand as the alcohol stung his wound, and she paused, lingering a little too long before taking the wipe and blushing. When she saw his eyes sparkling with mirth, she stabbed him with a kolto injection, a little harsher than she needed to. She knew that having a lot of kolto in your system made you cold, so she stepped back to let him dress himself once more, the military uniform not doing the muscles beneath it justice.

"General," Traven said, as she closed up his medical supplies. "I could have done that myself."

She knew that he was referring to her treating his cuts and burns, not her closing his supplies. "I know," she said, meeting his eyes bravely. The deep silver lacked its usual hardness, searching her emerald orbs for any hint of emotion. "Raisha sounded worried, and with a woman like that, it must have been bad."

"I didn't think you'd care," Traven said carefully. He added, after a pause, "After four years."  
"Consider it payment of a debt," she said, smiling. "You saved my life..."

"And now you get to hound me about every little scratch?" Traven joked, even if he wasn't smiling. Sasha noticed that he rarely ever smiled. He hadn't smiled much four years ago, either.

"Those weren't scratches," she said sternly, poking him in the chest. "That stab wound was deep."

"I've had worse," Traven said, remembering the time he had stumbled into Christine's med bay, bleeding out and half-dead. She hadn't forgiven him for that, saying that she'd spent hours cleaning the bloodstains off the elevator floor, but he knew it was because she had been scared. It had felt good to have one person that cared, when no one else seemed to.

Now there were two of them,and one of them was bossy. Sasha looked disturbed at the thought of him sustaining worse injury, so he changed the subject. "I'm starving," he said, moving to the door. "Are you?"

Sasha smiled. _What a simple way of inviting someone to share a meal..._ "Sure," she said. "I'm sure you've got lots of stories."

Stories. Traven's demeanor changed slightly, becoming more withdrawn and his eyes slipped back to their aloof edge, but he shook his head, blinking, and it was gone. "Yeah...stories."

With that, he was walking down the hall. Sasha had to run to catch up with his long strides.

* * *

The mess hall's rations were as simple as ever, but that didn't dampen Sasha's spirits as she sat across from Traven, eating slowly and waiting for him to star a conversation. She didn't quite know what was safe to talk about, sine he didn't seem keen on talking about his time in the SIS. When he didn't offer anything, Sasha decided to ask.

"What's the SIS like?" she said. Traven looked up at her, chewing his ration bar thoughtfully for a moment before sighing.

"It's violent," he disclosed, at long last. Sasha could tell he was uncomfortable. "The Jedi didn't know what they were doing when the sent me there. They thought it was an intelligence agency, a place where my skills could be used without exposing me to a lot of violence."

"Isn't it?" Sasha said, watching his eyes. They took on a far away look, and he shook his head, as if remembering something that happened a long time ago.

"No, it really isn't," he said. "It's more of a spec ops organization, and it centers a lot around...elimination missions. You work alone, too. I've only had a squad since the start of the war."

"Alone?" Sasha asked. "Why would they do that?"

Traven shrugged. "It's easier to blend in if its just you. A lot of my missions were undercover."

She could tell that he didn't want to talk to her about that, so she changed the subject. "How do you like your squad?"

"I don't know," Traven said, chuckling. The rough, baritone sound caught her off guard. "Sometimes I think they're a bunch of idiots, but they've got my six."

Sasha nodded, finishing one of her ration bars and rubbing her hands together. "Sounds like they're good people."

"Not what I'd call them," Traven said. He wasn't joking either, but he didn't elaborate. "How's the Jedi Order? Is the old man still kicking?"

Sasha knew he was referring to Greus and she smiled sadly. "He's one with the Force," she said. "He took your rejection by the council hard. He felt they had betrayed him by forcing him to break his promise, and things went downhill from there. He went out of his way to defy the Council and during one of his exploits, it backfired. He was investigating rising tensions between a group of hutts and a agricultural business when the hutts took offense to his questioning. His ship was destroyed several weeks later by an unknown attacker. They never found a body."

"That's too bad," Traven said, mulling over her words. At least Greus had been a man of integrity, even if it killed him. "What do you know about Revan?"

Sasha sighed. "I don't know. He's determined, that's for sure. He was one of the Jedi's most brilliant Knights. A lot of Jedi followed him when he left. Like me."

"They say he has a plant to win the war," Traven said. "I hope it works."

Sasha laughed. "Me too."

They were silent for a long time, as Traven stared at the table, thinking. Sasha could feel him wrestling with something, but she didn't know what it was, so she waited patiently, watching his face. Eventually, Traven looked at her, blinking slowly before giving her a half-smile. "You wouldn't be adverse to sparring, would you?"

Sasha's breath hitched briefly but she smiled regardless. "Maybe once you aren't so beat up," she deflected, laughing. Traven could hear the nervousness in it. "I'd hate to have an unfair advantage."

He knew when he was being rejected. It hurt a lot more than he was willing to admit. "That's alright," he said, tersely. His mask slid back into place, and he stood. "I'm going to see how my squad is doing, if you don't mind."

"Not at all," Sasha said numbly as he walked away, not sparing her a second glace. _What just happened?_


	15. Part 2 Chapter 8

Chapter 14

Traven slammed his fist into the punching bag, the entire one hundred kilogram sack of sand shaking violently and the sound echoing off the walls of the cargo hold. Several soldiers had gathered to watch him, but Traven largely ignored them, gritting his teeth and pounding his fists into the bag, his hands a blur and his muscles rippling with exertion. Sweat shone on his chest in the florescent lighting, dripping off of his chin as he danced on the balls of his feet, swaying slowly back and force as the bag danced in front of him, nearly shaking off of the hook that was fastened into the ceiling several meters above his head.

_Such an idiot!_

Traven's fist hit the bag much harder than the previous strikes, actually causing it to swing away from him. As it returned he kicked it hard with his shin, twisting his whole body to give the strike power and feeling the cloth of the bag tear from the strike, spewing sand as the chain finally tore off of the hook. The bag skidded off of the mat and lay still on the far side of the area that the crew had designated for training. Breathing heavily, Traven rolled his shoulders and sighed, looking at the ruined punching bag with disdain. The crewmen that had been watching dispersed slowly, but one figure didn't leave, still staring at him with a slightly hardened expression.

"I'm assuming you're feeling better, Commander?" Raisha asked, referring tot he wounds that he had sustained. The effects of the kolto were wearing off now, and he was starting to feel the aches in his chest where he had taken the hit responsible for the huge crack in his chestplate.

"You could say that," he grunted, cracking hi knuckles and rolling his neck. "How's that gash?"

"They closed it up," Raisha said. "Don't you think you should be taking it easy?"

Sasha's words echoed back to him. _'Maybe once you aren't so beat up.'_

He was such a fool.

"Sure," he said, shrugging. "The bag's torn anyway."

"I could fix it for you," Raisha offered, taking a roll of powerful adhesive tape from one of the engineering stations and kneeling beside the fallen bag. Traven watched her carefully as she wrapped the tear several times, the white strips a stark contrast to the black expanse of the bag's cloth. When she was finished, she lifted it with both hands and handed it to him, showing no signs of the effort on her face. "You know, usually you'd be celebrating after a victory like this."

Traven grunted and took the bag from her, holding it with one hand as he reattached it to the chain that was hanging from the cargo bay ceiling. "Usually."

Raisha watched as he started beating the bag once more, starting out with simple strikes and gradually growing more frantic and powerful. Every strike was concise, perfectly executed and delivered with enough strength to stop a rampaging wookiee. Raisha couldn't help but be impressed at his prowess as he practiced, watching his shining flesh as he struggled. Eventually, he stopped and turned, quirking an eyebrow as the bag swung back and tapped his side.

"You want to say something?" he asked.

"No," Raisha said. "Just observing your form."

"That all you were observing?" Traven teased. Raisha blushed, but only just, to her credit. "You wouldn't be standing there if you didn't have something to say, Lieutenant."

Raisha shrugged. "You seem bothered."

"Am I that easy to read?" Traven asked, shaking his head. Raisha watched him expectantly, and he sighed. There was no use hiding it from his friend, since it would do nothing but build tension within the squad, and that wasn't something that Traven was willing to do. He had grown surprisingly fond of the soldiers in his squad, and there were no secrets between them. "I asked the General to spar. She refused."

Raisha rocked back on her heels. "Haven't you only talked like...twice?"

"I saved her life four years ago," Traven revealed, turning back to the punching bag. "She's always been...intriguing."

"And there it is," Raisha said, teasingly. "The Commander's got a crush."

Tranev punched the bag with crushing force, and Raisha had the distinct feeling that he was imagining her face when he did so. "It isn't a crush," he argued. "It's just an attraction. She's a Jedi, I should have thought it through."

"Technically," Raisha said. "She isn't a Jedi anymore."

Traven paused, shaking his head as he sighed. "Don't worry about it, Raisha," he said. The use of her name, not her title, surprised the raven-haired woman greatly, and she smirked. "I'll get over it."

"I think you should ask her when she isn't worried about you keeling over," Raisha said. Traven looked at her, blinking slowly. "Not everyone knows how adverse you are to accepting treatment."

"She does. She dressed them," Traven said, dismissively, and once again, Raisha rocked back on her heels.

"And she won't spar with you?" Raisha asked, confused. She was sending some _seriously _mixed signals. "Maybe she doesn't know."

That wasn't possible. She had known that he usually treated his wounds by himself, in solitude. Like a wounded animal, Echani tended to withdraw when they were hurt, and it was a fact that they grew irritable and aggressive when they were trying to withdraw and weren't allowed to. If Sasha had known that he treated his own wounds, she would have known the Echani tradition around allowing only close friends, lovers, and family to dress wounds. It was especially true when the wounds had been caused by the one dong the dressing, either during an argument or a sparring match.

"She does," Traven said, shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. She's a Jedi."

"Is that your excuse?" Raisha asked, "Or hers?"

Traven shook his head. "Just drop it."

"Fine," Raisha said. Traven was about to start hitting the bag again when she stepped onto the mats, pulling her shirt over her head. "The bag obviously can't handle you, Commander. Allow me."

Traven would have objected if he wasn't so irritated with himself, so he allowed Raisha to step up, wearing a bra and uniform pants, push the punching bag aside and false a smile at him, falling into a typical Echani stance. Traven knew it well since he was the one that had taught it to her. As he stepped forward to throw a punch, he couldn't help but smile.

* * *

"So where's the Commander and the LT?" Burns asked, lying on his back in the med bay. Unlike Traven, he had no qualms about letting pretty nurses take care of him when he was injured. Kalloway, while less vocal about it, shared Burns' opinion.

"Dunno," he said. "The Commander was looking pretty bad when I gave him a kolto shot."

That attracted the notice of the ship's doctor, Malin Ralsus, but the man didn't say anything. Kalloway noticed him make a note in his datapad, however, no doubt reminding himself to talk to the Commander as soon as possible. "He took a couple hard hits," Burns admitted. "But he's had worse. We all have."

"Doesn't mean he should refuse treatment," the doctor finally cut in. "Why didn't he come with you?"

"He deals with it himself," Kalloway supplied, backing his Commander up, as usual. "He's like that. The General took him to his quarters when we landed."  
That allowed the doctor to relax, and he nodded. "The General is a renowned Jedi healer. I'm sure she wouldn't let him stay out of the med bay if his injuries were serious."

"Maybe the LT went to force the Commander up here," Burns suggested, looking over at a nurse as she measured his blood pressure. He had been pretty cut up by the Mandalorians and their vibroswords, but the wounds had all been sealed now, he was merely resting.

"He outranks her," Kalloway pointed out, laughing. "There's no way she could get him up here."

"Don't underestimate female persuasiveness," Burns advised, winking. Kalloway snorted.

The two comrades were quiet for awhile as the medical staff finished up and left, the heart monitors being softly in the quiet. After awhile, Kalloway looked over at Burns, grinning. "That was a pretty crazy stunt we pulled."

"Yeah," Burns said. "Did the commander say why? There were easier ways to deal with it. Like, I don't know, boarding the interdictor and hightailing it out."

Kalloway waved his hand dismissively. "That's the cowardly way to do it. We had balls."

"We almost died," Burns reminded him, remembering the way the flames of the exploding ship had singed the engines of Traven's freighter. "It was a good time, though. Those Mandalorians definitely weren't expecting something so..."

"Reckless? Incredibly stupid?" Kalloway cut in.

"Daring," Burns finished, laughing. "Did you see the Commander with that vibrosword? Remind me never to give him a sharp object."

"I was going to buy one for him," Kalloway said. Burns gave him a mock horrified look, and he burst into uproarious laughter. "What? I thought it would be a good memento. I could say, 'Hey, Commander, remember that time we took out that Destructor-class capital ship with nothing but our balls and a vibrosword?'"

"That's a bit of an exaggeration," Burns said, trying to calm his laughter. His cuts were starting to hurt again.

Just then, the doors to the med bay opened, and two very battered looking members of the Alpha-4 Sniper Squad staggered in, smiling like fools and clutching various area of their bodies. Burns and Kalloway stopped laughing, watching the curious site as the doctor scolded them for sparring so soon after sustaining such injuries, but it did nothing to wipe the grins of their faces. Neither Burns nor Kalloway could remember the last time Traven smiled like that. After the doctor sat the two on two adjacent beds in the med bay, he stormed out, and Raisha looked over at the two men.

"What?" she asked at their incredulous stares. None of them could stop laughing for hours after that.

* * *

Sasha was sitting on her bunk in her room, meditating to clear her thoughts. Usually, she was able to clear her mind and let the Force flow through her, uninterrupted, filling her with a sense of calm that few others could ever experience. This time, however, her mind was filled with Traven, and the Force was pouring into her like a waterfall, filling the sieve that was her body and pouring out in a flow that was neither calm nor uninterrupted. It was the rapids of a river, the tossing, turning, restless waves of a sea, an Sasha couldn't help but wonder how it was that he managed to put her in this state. It was not unlike the weeks after he had departed from her, that day in the Jedi temple, four—no, five—years ago.

_Sasha had o run to catch up with his long, urgent strides as he departed from the Council chambers, making his way with purpose towards the main entrance to the Jedi temple. Greus let her go, watching from the balcony beside the turbo lift as she rushed up beside him, grabbing a shoulder to force him to stop. She remembered the hopelessness in his eyes as she turned him around,t eh words dying in her mouth as his silver eyes locked with hers, youthful face suddenly seeming a lot older than it should. He was taller than her, but only by a few inches at the time, and he tilted his head to look down at her. She hadn't even realized that she was pulling him towards her until his arms wrapped around her shoulders and waist, pressing her against the warm mass that was his body. She held the embrace a little longer than was proper, but he didn't seem to care, only releasing her when he felt her begin to pull away. When he took a full step backwards, Sasha felt as if something in her heart pulled painfully._

_ "This is it?" Sasha said. "You're leaving?"_

_ "Yeah," Traven said simply, staring deep into her eyes as if to ingrain the image into his mind __forever. _

_ Sasha would never forget those eyes, even if they never saw each other again. "Thank you...for saving me."  
"Any time," he said, smiling weakly, looking up at the balcony where Greus was standing. "Your master is waiting."  
Sasha turned, saw that Greus was watching, and shook her head minutely, spinning back to see Traven retreating down the steps of the temple. She had to watch as he walked away, never looking back at her. Something broke in her heart when he disappeared from view, and she swallowed down the lump forming in her throat, slowly walking back to the balcony, eyes not actually seeing anything around her. He had only known her for a week at most, and he had reduced her to _this. _That night, Sasha cried for a long time._

Greus had known about it all, but he never mentioned it. He never talked about how attachment leads to the dark side, for he knew that doing so would only inspire the wrath of his student, and anger was so much worse than grief. Sasha shook her head, thinking about her old master was saddening, and the memories were starting to make her chest ached dully. But she was a Jedi. No one was allowed to love a Jedi.

She shouldn't have refused Traven in the mess hall, but she had anyway. She would have been too worried about his cuts to take the spar seriously, anyway, but he wouldn't see it like that. What she had said was serious. She was going to spar with him hen he wasn't bruised, cut, and tired. He would have little say in the matter once he was healed, she was sure of it. Surely he wouldn't refuse her like she had him, would he? Especially with the Echani stigma about a woman asking a man to spar. It meant more than a man asking a woman to an Echani, especially if the man had already asked. He wouldn't ask her again, she knew. Not unless she showed him that she wouldn't say no. She didn't know how Echani were able to know everything about you through fighting, but they could, and something in Sasha wanted nothing more than to let someone be that intimate with her, to know every small facet of her personality and thoughts. She was already an exile to the Order, so what would it matter is she broke another one of the tenets?

The reminder that the rest of the Order hated her for leaving to fight in the war was another painful thought. Too painful, even, for Sasha to focus on it. Instead, she allowed the memory of Traven carrying her out of the warehouse on Eshan, worry bright in his eyes as he tried to staunch the flow of blood. She remembered his efforts acutely, not only because they had been painful, but because they showed that he had cared, on some level, at least. He had cared enough to get blood on his hands to save her. She smiled, and her meditations became a lot more peaceful after that, but the steady flow of power never waned. Traven didn't know anything about he Force, or how it worked, but he was still influencing her ability to feel it, bringing her closer to the entity that all Jedi craved to have unity with. Maybe the Order was wrong...maybe attachment was all that was needed to make a Jedi one with the Force, not the lack of it. Sasha was certainly going to find out eventually; she was tired of keeping people out, of being that untouchable thing that they could see but never touch.

She was interrupted by a pinging sound in her quarters, echoing through the layers of power that were insulating her mind, as if it was reaching her through a wall of water. Her eyes opened, and the power slipped away as the outside world distracted her, the communicator on her desk pinging with an incoming connection. Frowning, she approached it and allowed the person through, a small image flickering to life in her hand and displaying the black and red T-visor that Revan had picked up on Cathar, shrouded by white and black robes and standing beside Malak on the Republic Armada flagship.

"Sasha," Revan said, his rich voice filing her room with his presence of authority. "I heard that your ship was attacked."

"Yes," Sasha said, wondering if he was speaking from concern or just mild interest. "It was. The SIS team saved us by boarding the enemy capital ship and shutting down their shields."

"Admirable work, for those not in touch with the Force," Revan said, sounding haughty. If he knew that Traven had more midichlorians than _he _did, he wouldn't be talking. "I sense that your feelings are conflicted on this matter."

"No," Sasha said, throwing up shields. She had forgotten how insistent Revan was, even over many light years. She could almost see him smiling behind his mask.

"I see," he said slowly. "I wanted to inform you of the nature of my plans for the war. Is your room secure?"

"Is this connection secure?" Sasha fired back, raising an eyebrow. Revan laughed loudly, but the sound didn't lift the mood at all. It was too imperious for her preferences.

"Yes," Revan said. "No one will be able to hear this except a Jedi."

"Then go on. I have to say that I am curious, considering the losses we took in the first year and a half of the fighting."

"That was...regrettable," Revan said. "The command of the Republic Armada was lacking in foresight, and paid for it dearly. Listen carefully, and be enlightened."

Sasha did, but she wasn't enlightened. As a matter of fact, she felt like throwing up towards the end of his spiel, and when the connection ended with some polite words, she fell back onto her bunk and stared at the wall in shock. Revan was going to _what_?


	16. Part 2 Chapter 9

Chapter 15

The Republic was gearing up for a military campaign, one that Revan promised would end the war. Then again, isn't that what every general promised their troops at the start of the campaign? Traven doubted that anyone went into battle thinking, 'this is going to make the war last another three decades! Yeah!' Except maybe a Mandalorian, or an Iridonian. A lot of people would have said that an Echani would do so, but Traven disagreed. When Echani fought wars, it was to prove that you were a superior general and master of warfare, and to prove that you were better than your opponent in every way, you destroy everything that he had ever worked for with deft, painful, merciless strokes, bringing him to his knees and ending it with honor. Dragging a conflict out on purpose, whether it be warfare or a simple spar, was dishonorable to your opponent and to yourself. That was why Mandalorians were despised by Echani, and that was why the Iridonians were the equivalent of demons to Traven's people. Lust for warfare and blood was just as dishonorable as it was illogical, and it would only ever lead to the eventual downfall of their culture and way of life.

At least, that was what the Echani taught their children. The Mandalorians seemed to be doing a pretty good job of upholding their way of life, and spreading it to the rest of the galaxy like some kind of disgusting plague. Traven had to respect their prowess on the battlefield, even if he didn't agree with their culture, and their brilliance while commanding fleets left many of the Republic generals speechless. The Echani generals hadn't been in command during this war, since the Echani had decided not to get involved in this conflict, despite the Republic's pleas. That is, before the Mandalorians attacked Eshan several months ago, driving a dagger into the heart of the Echani people by killing Yusanis, the best general that had been seen in Republic space for centuries. Now the Republic was relying on Revan, an arrogant, while brilliant, tactician with little more experience than a recruit straight from the academy. Traven wasn't holding out much hope.

But it was happening. They were targeting Taris, the same planet that he had fought on at the beginning of the bloodshed, but while the battle in Taris was raging, a fleet would be sent deep into Mandalorian space, attacking from Yablari and plunging deep into the Mandalorian's heart. Once the Mandalorian fleet withdrew to defend Malachor, their largest agricultural world, and Mandalore, their homeworld, Revan planned to destroy their armada in a swift stroke. Traven knew that it wasn't going to work out that way. The fleet would be too battered after fighting through Mandalorian-owned space to fight a head on battle with the Mandalorian Armada, and the men would be discouraged by the huge number of casualties they would take. Not to mention that a large portion of the fleet would still be on Taris when the main battle was fought, so the Republic wouldn't have its full forces at hand. There had to be something else at work here, or the plan would never work. But questioning superior officers was something that Traven had been taught not to do, so he remained silent. His squad was to fight in the battle for Taris, then make all due haste aboard a cruiser called the _Indestructible, _to the Republic fleet to participate in the final battle. He was an important asset to the war effort, apparently. Every SIS team that was still standing, a number of about two hundred fifty soldiers, would be present in the final battle at Malachor.

Traven hoped it would be enough.

The _Invulerable _was heading back to Arkania for refitting and debriefing for a special assignment after a long, two week patrol. Traven and his squad hadn't been called on to do any more daring attacks on enemy capital ships, despite the fact that they had encountered three separate raiding fleets during the course of the patrol. They had lost both of the accompanying cruisers in the conflicts, leaving the Republic Capital Ship alone in space, but the Mandalorians had lost more than that, so it seemed to be worth it in Traven's eyes. They had kept the raiding fleets from penetrating into the trade routes of the Republic, after all, and several hundred soldiers was worth it to protect possibly thousands of civilians. The war was going well, he thought. At least they weren't losing planets by the tens, for now.

What was strange was that the Mandalorians had been content to wait for the Republic to make their move after the initial onslaught. They hadn't pushed forward to take Arkania, even though they easily would have been able to, and they hadn't made a second attempt to take Duro. If the Mandalorians had taken either, they would win the war with little effort. Kuat was the only shipyard world that was unscathed, and that wasn't anywhere near the size of Duro or the population of Arkania. Traven was glad that the Mandalorians weren't pressing their obvious advantage, but the reasons for it eluded him. The captain believed that they weren't attacking because they didn't want to commit forces when they didn't know the ability of the supreme commander of the Republic Armada, Revan. While they didn't know how well he would fight, they wouldn't risk their fleet. While that was a sound conclusion, Traven found it odd that they weren't making more efforts to test Revan's skill. They should be engaging in skirmishes with the main Republic force, then, not trying and failing to raid trade lines. Either Mandalore the Indomitable was a moron, or his forces weren't what they were cracked up to be, and this whole war was a ruse to mask their weakness.

Perhaps the campaign would go better than he had originally thought.

Traven was walking through the quiet halls of the _Invulnerable, _trying to clear his head of the disturbing thoughts about the war. He had endured enough of war to last a long time, and he hadn't even been in the worst places. They said that the fighting at Omonoth and Myrkr had been brutal. Traven, however, knew that the worst was yet to come. War is bloodiest at the end.

Traven really shouldn't have been all that surprised that he would run into Sasha, even if it was the middle of the night. She always seemed to find him when his mind was filled with too many thoughts, and Traven didn't know whether to thank her or rebuke her for it. She rounded the corner just as he stepped past, reacting just in time to stop herself before running into him. They were inches apart for a brief second, Traven inhaling sharply with surprise and catching the sweet scent of her hair as she snapped her head up to look at him. He realized just how much taller he was than her, standing almost a head and a half above her. The top of her head reached the middle of his neck, and she had to tilt back to look at him, taking a slow step away to three paces, the proper distance to stand with a close friend in Echani culture. Traven wondered if she knew that, or if she just moved until she was comfortable.

"General," Traven greeted, after he cleared his mind of her scent and focused on her sharp features. The folds of her Jedi robe parted to reveal the lighter inner tunic, held to her body by a loosely tied sash around her waist.

"Commander," she replied, looking around the empty halls. "What are you doing up?"  
Traven met her eyes firmly for a long moment, the swirling emerald depths swallowing his thought capacity as he opened his mouth to speak. "Uh..." he said, stumbling over himself for a word before clearing his throat. What was wrong with him? He _never _stumbled over his words. "Couldn't sleep," he forced out, tearing his eyes away from hers and looking at the dimmed hallway lights. The ship's lights dimmed to fifty-percent at 2100 hours, and they stayed that way all the way through the evening shift, which lasted until 0500. There weren't many crewmen that served the evening shift, but there were several divisions of engineers and a skeleton crew of marines that patrolled the hallways. None of them were in sight, as far as Traven could see.

"Same," Sasha said, straightening her robes and looking over her shoulder. "I just came from the bridge. We're reaching Arkania in seven hours."

That was good news. With it, however, came all of the previous thoughts about the war that Traven was trying to forget. He wasn't a general, it wasn't his responsibility. "I feel bad for you, General, having to worry about the war all the time," he said before thinking that through. Wouldn't he sound like he was demeaning her rank? Sasha only laughed, and the sound reassured him.

"I don't think about it any more than you do, Commander," she assured him.

Traven didn't know if he felt comfortable with that answer. "Does that mean you know when I'm thinking about the war, General?"

"It's not hard to tell, considering how dreary your aura is all the time," Sasha said, then raised an eyebrow. "Unless the war isn't what's causing that."

Traven didn't want to talk about something like this. He didn't want to be near someone that could read his thoughts so easily. But he wanted to be close to Sasha... "I still think you should teach me how to protect my thoughts."

"Not thoughts," Sasha said. "I can only feel what you're broadcasting. And right now you're uncomfortable."

Traven shrugged, deciding that as long as she didn't know what his thoughts were pertaining to her or the things he had done in the SIS, then he was fine. He was watching her face in silence for a moment, awkward quiet prevailing over them, before Sasha shifted her stance, putting weight on her left foot and leaning that direction, a hand on her hip as the other came up to her face, playing around her lips as she smiled. "You have any plans, Commander?"

Plans? Of course not! It was 0200 hours, for Svy's sake. "Not at all," Traven replied, confused. "Why?"

"How about I take you up on your offer from a few weeks back?" Sasha said, and Traven's thoughts ground to a halt.

What?

He thought...she said...but... "Lead the way, General," he managed to say, without so much as an inflection in his voice. He wasn't prepared for this, not in the least. Sasha smiled and turned, walking down the hallway towards the turbolift. Traven was staring at her back as she walked, robes flowing behind her, but he temporarily forgot to move. She looked over her shoulder and beckoned him to follow with a hand, and Traven was galvanized into action, catching up with her smaller form easily with long strides.

He didn't quite know how they reached the cargo bay, or when they had arrived, but Sasha was there, shedding her robes and looking at him like he'd lost his mind. When she was standing in her skivvies on the mats and Traven was still trying to process what was going on while long expanses of creamy, pale skin were distracting him, she walked over and poked his chest, looking somewhat uncomfortable.

"Come on," she said. "You were the one that asked me to do this."

Yes. And now, even more than he had weeks ago, he knew why he had. Traven shook his head and undressed, following the usual Echani customs and casting a prayer to Svy to help him keep his mental fortitude during the spar. Then, he stepped onto the mats, the dim cargo bay lights barely illuminating the floor between the huge stacks of munitions and rations that were piled all around him in crates. Traven noticed that this area, different than the one that Raisha and he had used, was more off to the side, hidden from the elevator by crates. He wondered if Sasha was apprehensive about her body and had moved the crates on purpose. She shouldn't be ashamed of it, not at all. As a matter of fact, it was probably one of her most potent weapons against him at the moment.

"You know the customs," Traven said, more of a statement than a question. Sasha, after a brief pause, finally admitted to what he had thought since she first dressed his wounds.

"I, uh, read about Echani in the Temple," she said, blushing furiously. The combination of her being in her underwear and answering awkward questions was getting her flustered. She was wearing the usual Jedi underclothes, however, and it wasn't designed to be attractive, but to allow the most ease of movement without discomfort. That didn't stop her from noticing that his eyes only reached her face briefly.

"Then you know the rules?" Traven said, finally looking into her eyes. Generally, Echani spars were designed to show the one you were fighting what you knew, and they were at a more vigorous speed than most other martial spars. Usually, you held back in a spar to avoid injury, but Echani didn't think that way. Holding back was a sign of shame, and it would offend the person that you were fighting, so no matter how small and fragile Sasha looked, Traven wasn't going to go easy. He was trying to make her understand this so that he didn't end up being blamed for an injury. Hurting her was the last thing he wanted to do, anyway.

She understood this and made a face. "You aren't going to hurt me, Commander," she said. "I'm tougher than I look."

Traven nodded and slipped easily into a Form V stance, a style that was based less on fighting and more on using the opponent's movements against himself, throwing his balance off and using pressure points to force a submission. Sasha used a Jedi form that Traven recognized, but couldn't use himself. It was a general form that was used with a lightsaber, but could be adapted to work unarmed as well. The Jedi only had two such forms, and they were Shii-Cho, and Makashi. Shii-Cho was nicknamed Determination, and was used a lot like Form II in Echani, utilizing powerful kicks and punches to wear down an opponent. Makashi was designed to fight against force-users, and was very defensive. It was similar to, but not the same, as Form IV in Echani. Traven knew that the Jedi had based their newer forms off of Echani martial arts, a fact that the Echani took pride in, and he had been taught how to fight Jedi in the Academy. He had even been taught how to kill them.

He wondered, just as he stepped forward, why he hadn't been taught how to shield his mind from them. He closed in with Sasha, driving her towards the crates at the edge of the mat, and threw a punch to her left shoulder, intending to shift her center of gravity down, to her legs. She didn't block like he had anticipated, however, grabbing his wrist and twisting the joint in a move that he knew to be Form V. He didn't know that Jedi were taught Echani forms! His body, even though it was larger than hers, followed the movement instinctively, bending him at the torso and twisting to avoid a break at the wrist. It was then that Traven realized that it wasn't an Echani form, simply a variation of it, as she put pressure on the tendon in his arm, spinning and slamming an elbow into his side. He felt the impact keenly as he was thrown to the right, his own weight driving him to his hands and knees as she danced away, and grinned when he stood. She wasn't holding back. That was good.

Traven was more careful this time, his arm aching as he closed with her, kicking powerfully in a Form II move, the shin slamming into her forearm as she blocked, wrapping her arm around his leg and kicking out with her own shin to trip him. Traven felt her gravity shift, saw the kick incoming, and he jumped, throwing his weight backwards and hoping to catapult her over his head, but she stopped her kick and centered herself, falling onto him as he hit the mat and twisting the leg against her side, causing pain to fill him. Traven, refusing to submit, wrapped his leg around her thigh in a Form V submission hold, pulling the knee joint awkwardly, before twisting one arm around her head and pulling her towards his chest. The move would stress the tendons in the back and make it extremely painful to resist. Sasha pulled his leg forward, threatening to break it at the knee, and Traven knew that he couldn't win. He slammed a hand on the mat, and they parted instantly, Sasha standing before Traven and backing away, eyes scanning him quickly for injury. Traven's leg was burning from the stress it had been under, but there was no actual injury on it, so he stood, ignoring the flaming stress and moving forward. She was using the Force to predict his actions, and he didn't know her well enough to preclude hers, so it was natural that she would be taking the lead this early on. He was catching on to her personality and styles, however, and it wouldn't be long before he could predict her just as well.

Sasha moved forward, the side of her hand hitting his chest and actually causing him to recoil form the power behind the strike, surprising him slightly, but he overcame it quickly and deflected the second strike. He knew that the Force was her main asset, and it was not only granting her foresight, but also giving her strength and speed. When Trax had taught him to fight Jedi, he had told him to play to their arrogance, make them feel powerful, then allow them to miss. So he did. Sasha struck with a kick, straight to Traven's stomach. He saw it coming and didn't react, the breath whooshing from his lungs as he staggered, blocking the second kick and holding it to his side, bending his left knee and kicking out with his right, tripping her and slamming her down on the mats. It was a perfect take down, and it made him smile with accomplishment. Sasha was on her feet and attacking moments later, a fist hitting his jaw and throwing his entire body to the side with the strike. His vision danced in front of him as a heel kick struck his chest, returning the favor and throwing him against the crates before falling face-first onto the mats.

He heard her laugh as she danced away, and he groaned softly as he stood, shaking his head and making a show of being dizzy. She moved forward to attack again, and Traven knew, from her previous moves, that it would be a punch followed by a kick. His hand flashed up, grabbing her wrist in an exact imitation of her first hold, except he moved with a purpose, giving her no time to react as he twisted, slamming his free palm into the back of her bicep in the same motion, his hips turning to provide the power to throw her to the mats in an impressive twirl, before he fell onto her, a knee digging into her back and threatening to dislocate the shoulder, snap the elbow, and shatter the wrist at the same time. Her hand immediately tapped the mats in submission, a squeak of pain reaching his ears, and Traven only held it a second longer before releasing, standing and giving her time to rise to her feet.

"That was amazing," she said in awe, moving forward. Traven smiled at the praise, opening his mouth to reply, but she gave him no time. A kick slipped past his arms, completely unforeseen, slamming into his chest and causing his breath to catch. She moved forward, a hand firmly on his stomach as her other grasped his armpit. Traven tried to grab hold of something on her, but he failed as his feet were picked up off the mats and he was thrown over her head, the warmth of the hand on his stomach seeming to sear into him just before he slammed into the ground, staring up at the ceiling with shock written all over his face.

If this was a scored match, it would be three to one in Sasha's favor. The Jedi may not like to fight, but they were certainly prepared for it. Traven stood, realizing that he knew enough about her styles use the form that Trax had taught him specifically to fight against Jedi. He knew enough about her powers to be confident in it, and it wouldn't be hard for him to adapt if she tried anything new. He changed the placement of his feet and the position of his hands, seeing confusion on Sasha's face briefly as she tried to figure out what form he was using. She wouldn't know. The Jedi didn't realize or didn't care that there were organizations dedicated to killing them, and that hundreds of years of careful training and perfecting the art form had given birth to Xyres.

Traven knew little about it, only that it was born by a tribe of natives on Myrkr who despised the Force and anyone that used it. As Sasha moved forward, movements and strength amplified, Traven immediately saw why it was so deadly against them. He blocked her kick with one hand, moving the other before she had even struck to block a punch, his instincts telling him that it would be there. It was. His leg moved forward, pressing his shin to hers, and his hand wrapped around her bicep. Her leg came up to kick him in the gut, push him away, and Traven twisted,the leg that was pressed against her providing the balance required to bend backwards, the heel kick missing entirely. Then he spun, pulling her forward to unbalance her, releasing her arm as she started to tumble, his forearm pressing against her stomach as he twirled, lifting both feet of the mat in a brilliant display of strength. She was flying through the air as his spun completed, and Traven realized to late that it was a very powerful throw. Unprepared for the impact, Sasha yelped as she hit the mat, sliding across the soft pad for a good meter and laying there, the breath having been knocked straight from her lungs. Traven paused, knowing that he might have hurt her, but keeping his distance unless she requested his help.

"Ow," she said from the ground, pushing herself up on her elbows and looking at him with surprise, chest heaving as she panted. "Where'd you learn that one?"

Traven straightened and flashed a smile, proud that he only glanced at her chest once before offering her a hand. "It was required in training," he said. "Did it work?"

"What's it supposed to do?"

Traven shrugged. "It's designed to counter the Force," he said. "A group of people on Myrkr came up with it over the years. They call it Xyres."

Sasha laughed, taking his hand. He pulled her up a little harder than he had intended, causing her to press against his chest, looking up at him in surprise as he instinctively caught her by the small of her back to keep her from falling. They stood there, bodies pressed together in the dim light of the cargo hold, for several long seconds, seeming to last eons for Traven as his mind tried to process the sudden sensation of warm flesh against him.

"Uh, Commander?" Sasha asked, putting both hands on his chest. Her words and the touch seemed to wake him up, and he released her, the balls of her feet thumping back to the mats as the hand holding her up by the waist was removed as if burnt, and he stepped back, blushing and trying to stutter out an apology.

"I, uh..." Traven said. That was _twice _in one day that she'd left him speechless. Sasha laughed and stepped closer again, putting a hand on his shoulder and biting her bottom lip. The sight sent a lance of heat through Traven.

"That was a good spar," she said. "We'll do it again."  
Somehow, that didn't sound like a request. It made Traven want it even more. As she removed her hand, Traven found the shoulder she had touched suddenly cold. He didn't like it.

Sasha slipped easily back into the inner part of her robe, tying the sash and picking up the larger cloak, throwing it over her shoulder. "I'll teach you some things about the Jedi forms if you teach me that thing you used. It was very impressive."  
Traven took a while longer to reply than he should have. "Sure," he said.

"Sleep well, Commander," Sasha said, smiling at him mischievously with her eyes before walking around the crates back to the turbolift.

Traven stood for a long moment before he shook his head. He needed a cold shower.

* * *

A/N: For anyone that is curious about the martial art forms, here's a general comparison to martial arts in real life.

Echani Form I - A weaker down version of Form III

Echani Form II - Muay Thai (More like Muay Boran)

Echani Form III - Jiu-Jitsu or Judo

Echani Form IV - Karate/Akido

Echani Form V - Hapkido

Mandalorian - Muay Thai with throws from Hapkido and a little of MCMAP (Marine Corps Martial Arts Program)

Iridonian - Cambodian Bloodsport with a variety of weapons

Jedi Forms - A combination of all of the Echani Forms

Xyres - Sambo with adaptations to fight opponents that are stronger and faster than you

This might help with some of the fight scenes, if anyone is confused.


	17. Part 2 Chapter 10

A/N: In reply to a comment by a guest, in which you referred to Traven training himself in the Force: Good timing, considering the content of the coming chapters. There are a lot of things that happen before he really gets to use it, though.

Chapter 16

Traven was standing on the bridge, watching as the crew switched places with their relief for the coming third shift. He wasn't supposed to be on duty for this shift, since the captain assumed that he was to keep a regular schedule in case he was called away by the director. So, from 2100 hours to 0500, he wasn't supposed to be on the bridge, but he was currently waiting to be dismissed by either Sasha or the captain, and since the captain was in a deep conversation with a subordinate regarding his false alarm three hours ago, Traven was watching Sasha make her way across the observation deck towards him, datapad in one hand, the other playing idly with her fiery hair. She stopped a little closer than three paces away from him and looked up, smiling brightly. Traven raised an eyebrow at her demeanor, but waited for his superior officer to speak, since he was technically still on duty.

"Commander," Sasha greeted. "Are you required on the bridge for the third shift?"  
"No," Traven said, casting a significant glance at the captain. "I haven't been dismissed, General."  
Sasha started, smiling wider and laughing. "Oh! At ease, Commander," she said, and Traven relaxed his posture slightly, but still kept his back straight. "I was wondering if you'd help me look over some of the fleet reports, Commander. I hate desk work."  
"Do you often make people join you in your misery, General?" Traven teased as he followed her away from his post, towards the turbolift.

"I was _asking,_" Sasha said, then grinned. "But I can make it an order if I have to, Commander."

Traven grinned. "I would be glad to help," he said finally. "Although how much help I will actually be is questionable."

"Have you filed reports before, Commander?" Sasha asked as they stepped into the turbolift, with at least five other crewmen. It was a large lift, but that didn't mean it could hold an entire platoon. Sasha shifted closer to give the crew more room. She held the datapad out to him, which had a list of every ship in the Armada and their current status and location. That meant that there were over one-hundred thousand ships listed on the datapad, along with location, crew-size, munitions supply, and state of repair. It was a pretty important datapad, should it fall into the wrong hands. She _was _a general, regardless of whether she deserved the position or not, and that was what generals did.

Traven though to her question ad went to say 'yes,' but failed when he tried to think of the last report that he had done by himself. He had usually asked Christine to help him, and she ended up doing most of the work, so in reality, he didn't really remember much about filing reports. Thinking of Christine, Traven realized that he hadn't talked to her in almost a year, but he quickly shunted such thoughts from his mind. Maybe it was for the best. "Yes," he said, in spite of his internal musings. "But I doubt I remember much about the process after this long."

Sasha nodded. "Well, you can be moral support, then."

Moral support. Traven wasn't often called in to provide moral support, considering his less than sunny disposition and teasing sense of humor. "Sure," he said, shrugging. The turbolift doors opened on deck three, the second level of crew quarters, and he allowed Sasha to step out first, still looking down at the datapad, before following her down the hall, to their adjacent quarters. Sasha opened the door to her room and walked inside, throwing the datapad carelessly onto a desk that was cluttered with similar datapads before falling face-first onto the bunk that was nestled against the wall and sighing heavily. Traven blinked as he stepped into the room, noticing first the discarded datapad, then the woman sprawled out on the bunk, hidden completely beneath thick brown Jedi robes.

"I thought you were filing a report," Traven said as the door closed, and Sasha grunted. Traven took a seat at her desk, pulling the datapad towards him and scrolling through the ships listed. Most of them were cruisers or Dreadnought-class capital ships, but there were plenty of actual Capital sized ships distributed along the systems bordering the newly conquered Mandalorian territories.

After a few minutes, Sasha stood and shrugged the outer robe off, looking at it with disdain before moving to stand behind Traven. "You know," she said. "For a nine-teen year old, you're quite serious."

Traven blinked when his age was mentioned. It was true that his age was young, but every SIS agent was young. Most of them were younger than twenty, and only the higher ranking agents, the ones that had joined right after Traven had been trained for several months, were even close to his rank. Lieutenants, mostly. "Came with the territory, I suppose," he said, referring to SIS. Sasha's face darkened at the subtle reminder of his training, and she pulled a chair up to sit beside him, her leg brushing against his.

"The Jedi were stupid to send you somewhere without confirming what we were doing," Sasha said. "They were scared of your potential, you know."

Traven was surprised by this, looking at her and raising an eyebrow. What would the Jedi have to fear from a fifteen-year old orphan? Sasha explained before he could ask, as if reading his mind. She probably had been. "They didn't tell you? I thought they would at least explain that. You're midichlorian count is absurd," she said, and the rest fell into place in Traven's mind. His heightened reflexes, the dreams, his apparent luck in most endeavors, his ability to be empathetic easily. It was all a symptom of the Force that was dormant within him.

"How high?" Traven asked, curious. Sasha laughed.

"Eleven thousand one hundred and nine-teen per liter," she said. Traven blanched in surprise. "You know about midichlorians?"

"Yeah," Traven said, remembering the disturbing classes that he had taken pertaining to Jedi. "I do. Most of the Masters don't even have counts that high."

Sasha nodded her head sagely. "That's why they refused you. They couldn't risk you falling to the dark side, like Exar Kun or Ulic Qel-Droma. Another Sith War would have been the end of the Republic. That didn't give them the right to send you to the highest bidder, though."

The highest bidder. Traven wondered idly if the Director had paid the Jedi to get him, but he dismissed the thought. The Director was shrewd enough not to waste credits on an uncertain investment. "Interesting," he said. "I'm sure the Council isn't happy with you and the other Revanchists, then."

"Not at all," Sasha sighed, suddenly looking at her feet. "We're to be exiled when we return. Stripped from the force, maybe."  
The Jedi were cowards, Traven thought, suddenly. They would punish the champions of the Republic for fighting in a war when they were needed, to such extreme measures as amputating the only thing that a Jedi lived for, depended on? That was a step further than not training a boy with great potential because he was too old. Traven didn't share his thoughts aloud, even if he suspected that Sasha could hear them anyway, and instead he put his hand on her shoulder. "I wouldn't go back, if that was what they were offering as a reward."

"Where would I go?" Sasha asked, shaking her head dismally. "It's all I know."

Traven stayed silent, not really knowing how to respond. Her sacrifice, even if it hadn't been made yet, was enough to make him respect her even more. "I'm sure you weren't expecting to become a General when you came to help," Traven said, trying to lighten the mood. Sasha took the chance instantly.

"No, that was a surprise. I was a healer at the Temple, so I would have been more at home as a front line medic, but the Republic was handing out the positions, so..." Sasha said, laughing slightly. "I have no clue what I'm doing, to be honest. If you hadn't been there when we were attacked on patrol, the ship may well have been lost."

"I'm sure you would have been fine," Traven said. "Jedi are logical, and that's ninety percent of being a tactician. The rest is foresight, and Jedi have pretty good skills at that, as well."

Sasha looked up, into his eyes, searching there for something that Traven didn't know. "Just how much _do _you know about Jedi?"

The question caught him off-guard, but Traven wasn't going to lie to her. He didn't like lying to people that he knew, unless I was strictly necessary, and this moment was no exception. "I spent three months learning about them," Traven said carefully. "Their history, their martial styles, their lightsabers, their general mindset, some of their more well-known teachings. Their...weaknesses."

The last part caught her attention, but she knew his hesitation for what it was and left it alone, nodding her head. "So you already know a little bit about the Force?"

"They didn't teach me how to use it, if that's what you're asking," Traven said. "The man who taught us didn't know himself. He was just...someone with a grudge."

In truth, that particular instructor of the SIS was a person that Traven had been overjoyed to leave and never speak to again. His demeanor screamed murderer, and his eyes were always watching you, judging your movements and measuring your tendencies. Trauv, a zabrak with a clouded past, was a predator, pure and simple, but he had taught the agents to do their job well. He had also taught the section of the academy that detailed how to track down a target and eliminate him without being noticed. Sasha didn't inquire any further about the man, obviously sensing Traven's dislike for him, and instead settled on a new topic.

"Would you like to? Use the Force?" Sasha asked, watching his face carefully. Traven felt a warmth pass through him that he felt wasn't strictly from himself, and he knew that she was reading his thoughts in that moment. Judging from the smirk she was wearing, she had heard that.

"I don't know," Traven admitted, meeting her eyes. "Isn't there a reason that the Jedi refused to teach me?"

"They thought you'd fall to the dark side," Sasha said, and Traven saw something in her eyes that he hadn't seem in anyone else for a long time. Trust. "But I don't think you would. You're too good of a person to do that."

"Don't say that," Traven said, the words echoing in his head. He remembered the last time someone had told him that. He wasn't a good person. He would never be a _good _person, not after what he had done. Traven saw her features shift at that thought, turning from trust to a vaguely disturbed expression, and her eyes focused on his more intensely.

"You had no choice, whatever it was," she said. Traven shifted in his chair, shaking his head. She didn't know that. She couldn't possibly know. He looked away, unable to meet those eyes, those beautiful emerald pools, any longer

"Stop," Traven whispered, shaking his head. He didn't want to relive those memories. Never again. "Please."

"Traven..." Sasha said, pleading, quiet. Traven's eyes snapped back to hers at the uttering of his name, but he wasn't angry, not like he would usually be when someone said his first name. She had earned that right five years ago on Eshan, if he was going to be honest, he just hadn't admitted it. "I want to know. I can help."

"How?" Traven asked, shaking his head. "You can't undo the past, Jedi or no."

That was truth, and Sasha knew it. That wasn't what she had meant, and Traven knew _that. _Christine had always said that talking about things made it easier, but he had told her about everything, and it hadn't made the memories go away. The faces in his dreams were still there, the scars on his young body were still there.

Sasha was surrounded by his racing mind, and Traven knew it, but he couldn't do anything to stop the thoughts that rampaged around his head. He felt a soothing touch against his consciousness, wrapping him in the mental equivalent of an embrace and taking the panic and frustration away. There was no room for self-pity there, in that embrace, and Traven shook his head slowly.

"You don't want to see it," Traven tried one last time. "You don't want to carry the pain that I have to."

"What pain, Traven? What don't I want to see?" Sasha said, and Traven met her searching eyes, the green irises drawing him in and keeping him there like hypnosis, calming his thoughts until there was little besides the color emerald. Sasha blushed deeply, but still pushed forward.

"I don't know if I can..." Traven said, trying to draw some control back. His mind hardened against her intrusion, pushing himself from her embrace, and the panic rushed back like a tidal wave, crashing over him. His head pounded, his shoulders tensed, and his heart hammered in his chest. "I can't. Get out."

Then her hand was against his face, warm, reassuring, and her eyes were meeting his once more. Her touch, still gentle and caressing despite his violent attempts to force her out, reached back, carefully, against the wall that he had erected. He had no training, so the wall was imperfect, riddled with holes and cracks. Her touch slipped into those, filling it with her desire to _understand _and carefully tearing away his defenses. She wanted to know. She was going further than even Christine had to get answers, and Traven finally relented, the walls falling away as his pent up breath spilled from his lungs. Her mind pushed deeper, and Traven leaned into the warm hand against his cheek, never blinking as he stared into her eyes. The memories rushed forth, across the connection that Sasha had formed between them, and her eyes widened as the vivid images hit her, but she didn't recoil like Traven thought she would. Her hand didn't leave his face. And, she saw.

A/N: What does Traven have hiding behind his mask? What is it that he refuses to remember?


	18. Part 2 Chapter 11

A/N: Dark chapter warning. There's 'Redemption' in the title for a reason.

Chapter 17

_Traven didn't enjoy killing the strays. The agency couldn't afford to allow anyone leave, not when they had already received training and seen how the SIS worked. If word got to the Senate that the agency they had voted for was corrupt, then ti would be shut down, and its agents would be jailed or executed for their alleged crimes. Traven didn't know why. They were doing it for the Republic, weren't they? They had been tasked to protect the people against any threat, and that was what they were doing. So Traven did as he was told, promises that he could protect the innocent and serve his nation keeping him strong when the guilt came back, as it always did. 'Treat it like a game,' Trauv said. 'It's like you're hunting, and the runaways are your prey.'_

_ Traven found the ones that escaped, and he killed them. He did it quickly, painlessly, with no evidence and no identification. The bodies were usually taken back to the headquarters and cremated. Traven remembered all sixty-seven of them acutely, their faces as he drove back to the agency with their corpse in his back seat, covered by a black blanket that was the same color as the seat. He hated cleaning the blood off of the leather when he was done. Even after he stopped feeling guilty, it was a dismal task, and he hated seeing his hands covered in blood. Towards the end, he endeavored to end his targets without bleeding them, usually breaking their neck cleanly. It made it easier, to some degree, but the feeling of the bone snapping between his hands would be forever seared into his memory. He was glad when the other agents got assigned those jobs, and he could put his attention elsewhere._

_ Throughout it all was Christine, worrying over him when he returned to the agency, ordering him firmly to allow her to dress his wounds. At first he had been uncomfortable, remembering how his father had dressed his mother's wounds after a spar, and she would return the favor. Traven often left the room when they did that, knowing that he didn't want to see his parents getting all romantic. But __Christine's ministrations eventually became welcomed, the touch of hands against him that weren't misled by lies or attempting to strangle him a rare thing in his line of work. For awhile, they didn't talk while she worked, only speaking when she was done. He would thank her, and she would smile. The he would be gone, for another few weeks._

_Traven's first assignment was going well. The mercenaries trusted him implicitly, as if he was a brother among them, and he had risen through the ranks quickly. The leader had disclosed full information about the mercenary group's movements, fleet sizes, recruiting agencies, and troop deployments. Traven knew everything, and no one suspected a thing._

_ It had been simple, to complete the necessary recruiting assignment. He had gone above and beyond what they had told him to do, killing the target, the leader of a rival mercenary group, and his family in their home on Tatooine. Trauv had taught him how to impress the leaders of groups like these, and even if they thought he was a little bloodthirsty, he hadn't left any loose ends. No witnesses, no leads, no evidence. The rival gang could suspect, but they couldn't declare all out war, because they didn't know who'd done it. Mercenaries had a lot of enemies, after all, and one of them managed to catch poor Grulm with his pants down._

_ So Traven was initiated into the Justicars without question, climbing the ranks quickly. He fought in a variety of places for a few weeks, on Tatooine, on Myrkr, on Nar Shadaa. Then he had been promoted for heroic actions, being the only survivor of an attack on their base of operations on Tatooine, engineered entirely by himself. He had told the Vyrmis mercenaries where to find the base, and he had opened the doors for them, waiting until all of his previous friends and allies were dead before killing the strike team himself and destroying the base in a fiery explosion. He had weaved an impressive tale about how he tried to save them, how they came while they were sleeping and slit the throats of his brothers and sisters in the night. He told of how he detonated the base reactor in a sacrifice when he was one of the only remaining men alive. And they believed it. _

_ Then, he walked into the leader's office, after staging the explosion of a Hutt freighter eighteen __hours earlier, and shot the man twice in the forehead. The Hutts eliminated the Justicars in a matter of weeks, and Traven returned to Coruscant unscathed._

_ He was a turncoat. A betrayer. A coward. He was a murderer, a killer, the scum of the galaxy. And he was congratulated for his ability to lie, to kill without remorse. He enjoyed the praise, the thrill that the mission had given. And he did it again._

_ Christine told him that she was worried, that he was becoming hard, unfeeling. Traven told her that he would never stop feeling, because what he was feeling for her wasn't something that a heartless man could feel. She had been very slow about dressing his few injuries that day, and later that night, she had come to his quarters, saying that he had forgotten his shirt in her med bay. She had kissed him then, her body so soft in his hands and warm against his chest. She was tall, but not as tall as he was, but he didn't mind at all. Traven had kissed before, but he had never felt the way he did during that kiss, that embrace. When she left, Traven dreamed of her lips against his. _

_ He remembered getting a job as a hovercar driver for a rich family of aristocrats on Alderaan, a group that was secretly selling death-sticks in Republic space in a huge drug organization. They would be sent to Alderaan under the ruse of an arms shipment, considering the aristocrat's status as the CEO of a major weapons company, and would be delivered to various planets aboard paid smugglers. Traven drove their car for several days, learning as much as he could about their security and their lives. Then, when they all sat down for a family dinner, he poisoned their drinks and called the police when they died, clutching their throats as the poison burned the skin away, blood trickling down their faces. Five children, a woman, and a man. The man was the only guilty one._

_ That was how he worked. Trax said that he was a coward for not kicking down the door and blasting the whole place apart, but Trauv had been pleased with his underhanded tactic. It was a very creative way of eliminating the target, and it didn't give any indication that the SIS was behind it. After all, if there had been definitive proof that was admissible in a courtroom, they would have shut the operation down legally. But there hadn't been, so Traven did it for them._

_ Traven told Christine what he had done, and the guilt he had felt when he first became an agent rushed back, just as stinging and just as debilitating as it had been however many months ago it had been. Christine had held him while he cried against her shoulder, stroking his back and letting him vent. Then she kissed him again, wiping the tears from his face and forcing him to stand straighter. He wasn't a bad person, she had said. He wasn't evil. Traven didn't know if he believed her, but he stood tall regardless, if only for the smile that she gave him when he did. He hadn't been injured after that mission, but Traven invited her to his quarters to eat, somewhat awkwardly and with much blushing and stuttering. She was the first person that managed to make him uncomfortable. _

_ That night, she stayed in his bunk. He was only sixteen, and she was twenty, but they didn't care. The affection was much needed to help soothe Traven's conscience, and Christine had her own issues, though she never told Traven about them._

_ Traven thought it was love. He was a fool._

_ He was gone before she woke up, called away on a mission by a sneering Trax. Traven nearly killed the man when he called her a lying whore, but Trauv had stepped between them before the act could be done. Trax had held Traven in a different light after that, the bruises on his face and the ache in his neck testament to just how close Traven had gotten to losing it. _

_ Traven was gone longer than usual on the next mission, killing slavers and pirates and hunting down different criminal organizations. It was a combination of three assignments, and he did them all as quickly as possible. His haste caused him to make mistakes, however, and he sustained major injuries as he completed hi objectives. When he returned to Coruscant, Christine had a lot of work to do, but it wasn't the worst that she'd see. The Director was irate that Traven had been careless, and Traven knew it, even if he never spoke with him. Christine comforted him like she always did, and Traven asked about what Trax had spoke of. They argued over her past, about how she used to work at a hospital on a remote planet called Klagron, where there had been a famine. She was only seventeen when the famine happened, and she'd sold her body to people for their rations, sometimes killing them __when she got close enough. She had been starving, just like everyone else, and the act had been done in desperation. Traven told himself that she hadn't wanted to. He couldn't bring himself to look at her the same way when he found out that it was true. _

_ He didn't know her anymore. What did he have to give her, that she'd sleep with him to get it? He dressed his own wounds and slept alone, despite Christine ordering him to let her see his cuts and burns. Most of those injuries scarred over, but Traven couldn't bring himself to care. When he was healthy, he was glad to be sent on a mission, away from Christine's pleading messages and the confusion they brought._

_ And he killed. And he returned. _

_ It never changed. He wasn't a spy. He wasn't even a law officer. He just killed people. He wasn't the agent that discovered the plots or broke laws to find the illegal activity, he was the one that they called on to end it. The hit-man. The executioner. He learned this all from a dying criminal named Luks, as his blood pooled around his gut from a long dagger that Traven had used to kill all three of his guards. _

_ "Such a fool," Luks had choked out, "nothing but a weapon. A tool."_

_ Traven took a long time to return to Coruscant, and the Director wasn't happy about that either. He spent several weeks doing cleanup duty, hunting down the quitters and bringing them back in bags. There were less of them now then before, because the rumors of what happened to the ones that ran reached the new recruits. Now, the ones that ran weren't only terrified, but also so mortified and depressed that sometimes they didn't even fight when he found them. Traven didn't question the Director after that. He spoke to Christine about it, completely ignoring the issues that he had with her. He couldn't help it. He _needed _her comfort after what he'd been told by Luks, after what he'd done once again. What he'd sworn never to do._

_ She comforted him like always, acting as if he didn't know what happened. It helped him forget what he was doing, talking with her, it helped him believe that it wasn't wrong._

_ It was. He was lying to himself. _

_ After two years, he was calloused to it. He had told Christine it wouldn't happen, but he didn't love her anymore. Maybe he never loved her. Maybe she had just lied to him for some stupid fling and he had been easy to trick. Traven hated her for it. But she was the only one that cared to talk to him. And he loved her for that. No matter how many times she asked him, or attempted to seduce him, he wouldn't sleep with her. Never again, he told himself. Not with her. He wouldn't be lied to again._

_ Then the war had started, and he was released from his usual duties. War was easier. War was straight forward. He could shoot the enemy and not feel bad about it afterward. They were trying to hurt him, to dominate the Republic. It was easy to explain why and it was easy to avoid taking blame. They weren't like his other targets, who had just been living their lives and breaking the law. Maybe they were criminals, and maybe they deserved what they got, but that didn't make killing them easier. As much as people said that was was hell, Traven had to disagree. The battlefield was dangerous, and civilians died, but it was a lot easier than killing a family of children and their parents because one of them was making a bad mistake. Living in a building full of people that would kill at a second thought and never remember it was hell. SIS was hell._

_ War was not. _

_ Traven lost himself in war. It was easy to fight people that didn't have his training, that couldn't defend themselves against his brutal, efficient moves. The Mandalorians were good soldiers, but they weren't the killing machine that Traven and the SIS agents under him were. Because that was what he was. _

_ A killing machine._

Sasha stopped there. She didn't want to know what his thoughts were about the present or the future, that wasn't what he had let her in to see, and what she _had_ seen was enough. She dropped her hand from his face and Traven stood, shaking his head as her presence left him. His eyes grew cold, detached, and he turned away, making his way to the door. Sasha almost didn't realize what was happening in time to reach out and stop him.

"What are you doing?" she asked, standing as well.

Traven met her eyes, and Sasha felt like she was talking to a different person. This wasn't the Traven that she had sparred with, the Traven that teased her and joked with her. This was the Traven that he was afraid of, the Traven that killed and didn't care. It sent a shiver down to the base of her spine, the hairs on the back of her neck standing straight up.

"You don't want me here," Traven said, gesturing around. "You don't want to be close to someone like me."

Sasha's throat constricted at those words, and she shook her head. "Traven..." she started.

"Don't, Sasha, please," he said. She barely even noticed that he was using her name, not her title. "I don't want someone to rationalize it anymore. I don't need another Christine."

The words pounded into her heart like a stake.

"I'm going to hell for what I've done, but Svy help me if I take anyone else with me. I'm sorry," he said. He took another step towards the door.

"Traven, stop," she ordered as firmly as she could, trying to stop the tears that were welling up in her eyes. Reading a mind like she had was taxing, and the pain and emotion that he had felt was still echoing in her mind. It was acute and sharp, pounding in her head with every beat of her heart. Traven did stop, but he didn't look at her, or acknowledge the hand around his wrist. "I know that it was wrong," she said. "I won't tell you it wasn't. But there's a side to you that was hidden underneath all the death and betrayal. A side that I saw when he saved my life on Eshan. A side that grieved the loss of his family in the dormitory of the shuttle when he thought I wasn't watching. A side that cried as he walked away from the Temple after being rejected by the Council."

Traven turned now, the mask he had constructed shattering as he shook his head, gritting his teeth. He held her wrist this time, and she forced herself not to wince at the tightness of it. He was angry, but she didn't care. At least he was still there. "Is this your Jedi Code talking? 'There's still good in you, Traven,' you say. I will tell you why the Jedi Council refused to teach me the Force right now. They refused because they took one look at me and they saw a Sith that couldn't use the Force. Isn't that what you're trained to kill, to fight with all your being?"

Traven released her hand and spread his arms, pushing his chest forward and looking at the lightsaber at her belt. "If you're a Jedi, then you're Code demands that evil like me dies."

"But I'm not a Jedi," Sasha said, taking her lightsaber and throwing it to the corner of the room before grabbing his shirt in a fist and yanking him forward. Traven's hands slammed onto her shoulders, and Sasha almost fell from the impact, but she stayed strong, pulling his face down to her level and glaring into his eyes. "If I were a Jedi, I wouldn't be here, were I? If you were truly evil, you wouldn't care, would you? It wouldn't bother you that I'm trying to help you. But it does bother you, and that is enough proof that _something _in there doesn't want to be what it is."

Traven pushed her away firmly, and she stumbled, but didn't fall. She never stopped staring at him. "This is what I was made to be," he said. "Nothing can unmake that now."

"Do you really think that?" Sasha asked incredulously.

Traven's eyes flickered, losing some of their hardness as he fought an internal battle, but the facade was up again just as fast. "Yes," he said, turning towards the door once more. She couldn't let him leave. If Sasha had any hope of getting him to _see, _it had to be now. So, she stepped forward and grabbed his shoulder, throwing a leg out and tossing him to the ground. His hands immediately came up to throw her off, but her hands were faster, fingers touching both sides of his head and a mental attack raining down on him with the force of an avalanche. His movements stopped, forced to by the presence that suddenly occupied his mind, and his weak barriers flailed against the overwhelming power of Sasha's mind. She threw his memories back at him, with her emotions weaved within, cascading through the time on Eshan, the grieving in the shuttle, and rejection of the Council.

She forced him to feel what she felt, and that was a powerful thing.

When she broke the contact, snapping it off like a taut rope, she expected him to strike her face, where his hands were aiming before she had stopped him, but the attack never came. Instead, he just collapsed on the ground, muscles going lax underneath her as tears rushed into his eyes. Tears of pain, of anger, of frustration, of confusion. He covered his face with his hands and shook his head wildly, refusing to believe that anyone could actually want to help him. He was broken and she wanted to fix him, and that was enough to change the way that Traven viewed the whole world. Sasha pushed herself off of his chest, brushing herself off and waiting for him to stand, and when he did, tears were streaming from red, irritated eyes.

"Why did you have to try so hard?" he whispered. "Why couldn't you have let me live in my guilt."  
"That would have been a crime worse than anything you could ever do," Sasha said, and Traven laughed brokenly, unable to process anything more than what she had shown him. She cared. She might not know why, exactly, but she did. Not like Christine had cared, only enough for pretty words and the illusion of love, but actual, sincere, affection. He didn't deserve anything so pure.

"I tried to stop you," he said quietly. "I tried to tell you that you wouldn't like what you would see."

He couldn't meet her eyes, staring down at his feet. Sasha stepped forward tentatively, as if approaching a cornered beast, watching his shoulders tense as she wrapped her arms around his waist in an embrace, feeling his muscles pull taut as he wondered briefly what to do. Then his arms wrapped around her shoulders, slowly, almost reluctantly. A symbol of him accepting her comfort, her assistance. Sasha smiled tiredly and put her head against his chest, listening to the strong beat of the heart inside. Even if he didn't believe it, the steady beat was proof that it was there.

A/N: So there it is. The truth of what the SIS really was.


	19. Part 2 Chapter 12

A/N: This chapter is kind of an interlude between the lull in the warfare and the fighting.

Chapter 18

"The Director has an assignment for you, whelp," Trax said, the small six inch hologram giving the huge Iridonian near-human no credit. Traven blinked down at the communicator in his hand as he walked through the halls of the ship, towards the bridge for his assigned shift.

"I'm sure that he sent it to my freighter," Traven said.

Trax grunted. The sounds, Traven had learned, were his way of communicating. This particular grunt was an affirmative. "Your Lieutenant received the debriefing in your absence. You should talk to her. Trax out."  
The hologram disappeared and Traven snapped the communicator closed. A mission? That was unexpected. Traven hoped that it wasn't anything permanent; he didn't want to lose what he had finally found. He stepped through the open doors to the bridge, deep in contemplation, and he barely even noticed Captain Pike greeting hi for his shift. When he saw the uniformed officer in front of him, he stood straighter than he had been before and snapped his hand up in a crisp salute.

"Sir," Traven greeted, eyes scanning the deck for Sasha. He knew, somehow, that she was making her way towards them from the turbolift, fifty-six meters away. Pike nodded his head to Traven, and he relaxed slightly, still keeping his posture impeccable and his shoulders straight.

"I have been informed that my Director has given me an assignment, Captain," Traven said. "Requesting permission to transfer."  
He was just unlucky enough that Sasha arrived in time to hear his last sentence. He _felt _the wave of hurt that crashed over her when she approached, eyes flashing as she greeted Traven, then the captain. Traven wondered if she knew that it was proper etiquette to greet the superior officer first.

"The Commander is leaving us?" she asked, sounding as if she didn't care. Traven knew that she was keeping up appearances, but it still stung. Her eyes looked into his for a long moment, as if to reassure him, before snapping back to Pike. Traven knew, somehow, that she felt his unease about being called away, and it soothed her pain.

"He's been called for duty," the captain said. "I must admit that I'm reluctant to let the savior of our ship go so easily. You will be back, I hope?"

"If Svy wills it," Traven said, a subtle vow that only someone versed in Echani religion would understand. He felt relief radiating off of Sasha's shoulders and furrowed his brow. Why was he suddenly aware of what she was feeling?

"I'll take him to his ship, captain, if I'm not needed," she said. Pike grinned and waved them off.

"Good luck, Commander," he said as he turned away. Traven had a feeling that they were going to need it.

Sasha fell in beside Traven as he turned, making his way back to the turbolift and hitting the key that would take him to the hangar.

"When were you informed of your mission?" Sasha asked him after a moment. Traven replied honestly, searching her face for the emotions that he could feel.

"This morning," Traven said. Her understanding was palpable. And yet her face remained stoic. Traven could stand it no more, and he sighed, stopping the lift by pulling the emergency lever and turning to her. "Why can I feel your emotions?"

Sasha started and looked away, a blush rising on her face. "I, uh..." she said, stumbling over her explanation. "It was an accident, but it seems that by linking our minds for our...exchange last night, I have created a bond similar to that between a master and student. The Jedi use it to make their students learn faster during the early stages of training, and to help them dampen their emotions."

"You still have emotions," Traven pointed out. "Or I wouldn't be feeling them."

"Greus was an interesting master," Sasha said, cryptically. She flipped the lever again, allowing the elevator to continue. Her last remark was slightly snappy, "Sorry if it inconveniences you."

"It will make it easier to learn, won't it? The bond works both ways," he reassured her. He had nothing to hide. Not from her, at least. She nodded an affirmative. The elevator was about to reach the hangar floor.

Traven felt her fear as she looked at his face, into his eyes, and he softened his features, sighing heavily. "Sasha," he said, and she pulled him into a brief embrace.

"You will come back? I couldn't stand it if we had a conversation like last night and you just disappeared," Sasha said, trailing off. She didn't need to state her worries, Traven could feel them acutely.

"I vowed I would try on the bridge," he said, quirking an eyebrow. He thought that she knew about Echani culture and religion. "I can't promise anything more. I don't even know what my assignment is."

Sasha nodded, stepping away to three paces as the doors opened. "Honor, Truth, Victory," she whispered in Traven's native language. The mantra that every Echani said before they went into battle, a vow to act with honor, speak with truth, and achieve victory. Traven couldn't remember the last time that he had made that vow.

"Honor, Truth, Victory," he repeated, and the doors closed. He just hoped that he could uphold it.

When he found his freighter, Raisha was waiting for him beside the ramp, watching him as he approached. She noticed the bags under his eyes and the worn expression on his face, but didn't say anything, following her Commander into the bowels of the freighter and closing the ramp.

"Captain Pike has given us permission to transfer to another assignment. He has requested that we return when its completed," Traven informed her, squaring his shoulders towards his Lieutenant. "What are the details of the assignment?"

"It's a covert op," Raisha said as Burns and Kalloway approached, in full armor. Traven could see disgruntled looks on their faces. "All four of us are required."  
Traven blinked in surprise. SIS almost always worked solo. "Why?"

"We're retaking Dagary Minor," Raisha said, simply. "The Mandalorians left a skeleton defense in orbit, but their presence on the surface is substantial. The Republic wants to take the planet without too many casualties, so Revan went to the Director and asked for his best agents. That's you, Traven, and anyone in your squad."

"Dagary Minor was lost as the Republic retreated, before the Jedi showed up. There was one Jedi, however, that was fighting in the battle. General Meetra Surik, and she gave the Mandalorians one hell of a fight before thy lost the planet. As a result, the Mandalorians built defense bases all over the surface, but only two have orbital cannons," Kalloway said. "Revan thinks that if we take out those bases, then the Mandalorians will surrender on the surface because we would have orbital dominance, meaning that we wouldn't have to have a full-scale invasion."

Two bases. That meant that the squad would be split into two pairs, and they would both target a base. "Where are the bases?" Traven asked.

Raisha grabbed his shoulder and led him to the lounge of the freighter, where a hologram of the planet was revolving in the enter of the room. Traven inspected the surface closely, noticing the huge crater that covered a good portion of the planets western hemisphere, and the jungles that surrounded that. Mandalorians seemed to have a thing for jungles, considering that they were operating from Dxun, a jungle moon, and had built bases in Dagary Minor's jungles. One of their targets was int eh center of the huge crater, however, meaning that the approach was fifty kilometers of nearly flat, dusty, kill-zone. There were jungles all the way around the ring of the one hundred kilometer wide crater, meaning that it wouldn't bee too difficult to get that far, but staying cloaked for fift miles was nigh impossible, and there were bound to be machine guns pointed out at the approaches. Traven knew now why Revan hadn't wanted to invade this planet.

The first base was a fortress, with seven hundred sixty orbital targeting turbolaser mounts and a garrison of nearly two thousand men. It was covered by a shield dome strong enough to defend against two weeks of constant bombardment from orbit or artillery, and it had cruise missile mounts on it to target enemies approaching from any direction. Traven wouldn't have wanted to attack it with a million man army.

The second base was on the opposite hemisphere, a good ten thousand kilometers away from the first, and it was slightly smaller. It only had five hundred three orbital cannons in it, and it was nestled up against a cliff side. Traven decided that he and Raisha would be taking the base in the crater, and the other would be Kalloway's responsibility. And Burns, but Burns was just a Corporal, so Traven couldn't really give him any responsibilities at all.

"I see," Traven said, looking at Raisha. They were going to need a damn good plan to pull this one off, and it wasn't going to work if they just went in guns blazing like they had on the capital ship. "What aren't you telling me?"

"When we arrive, we are o send a message to the _Invulnerable _with the words 'the juma-juice is warm,' if we think that it can be done. If something happens, we have to call off the approaching fleet by sending them the opposite, 'the juma-juice is cold.'"

"Juma-juice?" Traven asked, cracking a smile.

"Not my idea, Commander," Raisha said. "It'll interest the Mandalorians, though."

Traven laughed. "Well, how long do we have before the fleet arrives?"

"I programmed the timer in our helmets to display the countdown. I doubt that we'll be able to keep our gear for the whole mission, however, so try and keep it straight in your head. Once the message is sent, the Republic fleet will arrive in precisely two hundred sixteen hours," Raisha said. "That's our window. If the bases aren't down before the fleet arrives, then they'll get trashed by the planetary defenses."

"A week and two days," Traven simplified. Raisha nodded.

"The freighter has a cloaking device," Traven informed Raisha. "Entering the system shouldn't be a problem unless we get within visual range. We're invisible on all scanners."  
"That's new," Raisha said dryly, following Traven to the cockpit.

"It only works for several hours at a time," he said, pointing to the switch on the corner of the dash. "When we enter the system, activate it and put us down in the Northern pole. They won't have a base in a place so cold. Once we arrive, we'll send the message and take the swoop bikes to our locations, infiltrate the bases, plant explosives, and get out."

"How are we going to get into the bases?" Raisha asked. It was a good question.

"I don't know," Traven said. "We'll figure that out when we get there. You're with me, we'll take the crater base. Burns and Kalloway will take the other."

"Alright," Raisha agreed, thinking over his plan. "What if they sense the swoop bike's emissions? There's military bases everywhere, we can't avoid detection on a vehicle."

"We might have to just use the swoop bike to get close enough to walk," Traven said. "I'll look at the intel we've got and come up with the details. Can you get us to the surface undetected."

"Of course," Raisha said, grinning wolfishly. Traven nodded.

"Then let's get going. The sooner this is done, the sooner we can get back," Traven said, thinking of the fiery haired general on the bridge, no doubt searching space for the freighter that would be leaving their hangar in several minutes. He reached out awkwardly to find the bond, and Sasha rushed forth from the connection when she felt him searching, filling him with her confidence. He smiled as the ship's engines burst to life under his feet.

Fortunately, the Director hadn't sent them in without a large amount of intel behind them. They knew the location of every military base and their sensor capabilities, courtesy of a Mandalorian general who was a little too greedy for his own good. That general was still on Dagary Minor, and Traven was informed that he was to die when the bases were eliminated. He was overseeing the construction in the crater base for the next month, so Traven was assured that it wouldn't bee too difficult. Traven was unsure why the Mandalorian would be stupid enough to give the Republic information about his own defenses, only to stay in the system himself, and the thought made him uneasy. Or maybe the Mandalorian was just stupid.

* * *

They were only one day away from Dagary minor, and Traven had everything prepared in his mind. Burns and Kalloway would take their swoop bike, one of the two small Czerka Windracers that laid quietly against the wall of the armory, five thousand kilometers southwest, weaving between the blind spots in the Mandalorian sensor network. When they reached an area that was two hundred kilometers away, they would be forced to dismount and continue their approach on foot. Traven figured that it would be a four day trek, maybe three if they pushed it, and they would be weaving between Mandalorian patrols while they traveled. Traven made sure to give them a lot of stimulants and medpacs, knowing that they wouldn't get to the base unscathed. They were smart enough to get into the base unseen and place the explosives. Once the base was destroyed, they would withdraw to a rendezvous point in the jungle, and wait there for Traven and Raisha.

Traven and Raisha had the harder of the two missions. Their trek would begin four hundred kilometers away, meaning a five or six day journey on foot would be required to reach the edge of the crater. They would have to be very creative in their method of approaching the fortress and placing the explosives, but Traven was sure that they could do it. Traven would be the one placing explosives, and Raisha would kill General Grolm, then they would meet up with Burns and Kalloway and wait for the fleet.

If everything went well, they would get out alive. In war, Traven knew, things rarely went well. It was a simple plan, in theory, but in execution, it was daring and almost impossible. If their cover was blown, they would be killed or forced to retreat, and the Republic fleet would jump into a system and sustain extraordinary losses as the planetary turbolasers shredded the fleet. It would be impossible to land troops anywhere within five thousand kilometers of the turbolaser cannons, and any ships orbiting the planet's eastern hemisphere would be in range. Traven hoped that Revan would have the sense to use nuclear weaponry if it came down to it, but he doubted that the Republic would have the guts. Nuclear weapons hadn't been used by Republic military for years, and the Senate was proud of the fact. Revan, however, would see it as necessary, if what Traven heard about him was true. His skirmishes with the Mandalorian fleet had been flawlessly executed, and the Republic was starting to encroach in enemy territory in the South.

Revan was like a god among the Republic soldiers, and most of them would follow him into hell if that's what he asked for. If anyone was going to lead the Republic into victory, it was Revan.

Somehow, Traven felt that the war wouldn't end without a very bloody climax, and even though he couldn't say how, he figured that it wouldn't be just the Mandalorians that suffered losses.


	20. Part 2 Chapter 13

Chapter 19

Dagary Minor

Traven's freighter exited hyperspace in what the navigation charts showed was a safe approach vector, but apparently the debris field from the battle almost a year ago wasn't on the charts, because his ship fell out right in the middle of a floating death trap. Raisha, sitting in the pilot's seat, gave an exclamation of surprise and dropped the hull underneath a huge pinwheeling capital ship wreck that would have squished Traven's tiny little freighter into galactic space dust. A huge beam of durasteel slammed across the back of the ship, throwing it off course and into a cloud of smaller, sharper bits of twisted metal. The engines sucked the grit into the exhaust vents and blasted it through the huge molecular turbines, frying the starboard thruster in a brilliant blast of flames that was akin to a flare going off. Any ship within two parsecs would have seen that on sensors, cloaking or no, and it caused Raisha and Traven to swear in tandem.

"This is bad," she said, using the ship's landing fuel to navigate away from the shrapnel cloud. "We can't maintain stealth with the engines smoking like that."

"Well," Traven said, turning to Burns. "We'll have to improvise. We're still in stealth for now, right? How much time do we have?"

"Fifteen minutes," Raisha said.

"Close with the Mandalorian defense fleet and pull us against their underside with magnetic locks. Burns, get up in the turret nest, I'm going to need you to fire the gun," Traven said. He didn't know if his plan would work, but a space battle was exactly the distraction they would need to land their ship successfully. Raisha gave him a surprised glance, catching onto his idea, before smirking and shaking her head.

"Aye, sir," Raisha said. "This'll be one for the history books if it works."

'_If.' _That was a pretty big '_if.' _Their ship cleared the debris field two minutes later, and the Mandalorian defense fleet, along with the Republic's old orbital defense station, came into view. The station was missing large chunks of its chassis, no doubt caused by Mandalorian guns, and two gargantuan capital ships were pulled alongside it, surrounded by a sizable fleet of frigates and cruisers. Traven wondered if this was Revan's idea of a skeleton defense, or if they had been misled, but he didn't give it a second thought as they made their approach. Since they were invisible on sensors, and since cloaking technology was unheard of, it was unlikely that they would be caught, even if they were in visual range. Traven just hoped that they didn't lose the port stabilizer, or they would be having a quick, painful first impression of Dagary Minor's soil.

Raisha was a top pilot, better than Traven was, if you wanted to get technical, and she lined up the magnetic grips with the underside of a Mandalorian gun deck on one of the huge, three kilometer long capital ships. Traven slid his helmet on, the visor booting up to display his vital and the status of his squad. He touched the communicator by his ear and spoke to Burns.

"Target something soft and fire on my mark," Traven said.

Burns was quiet, but everyone could hear the freighter's single turbolaser swiveling against the Mandalorian hull. "Target aquired," Burns said. "Fuel cells on a cruiser that's under construction."

Perfect. Traven waited, eyes pinpointing the cruiser that Burns was targeting, and he saw the fuel line that connected it to the station. With any luck, it would cause a chain reaction and blow the whole thing, but Traven wasn't that optimistic. "Fire," he said.

The turbolasers hefty _thoomph...hissss...thoomph _filled the ships silence, and the two green bolts of supercharged molecules slammed into the target, searing through the durasteel armor with the first shot, the second plunging deep into a fuel cell. The cruiser sat, undisturbed, for a long moment, before the flames reached the engine, and it suddenly flared into a brilliant green ball of expanding energy, the fuel line cackling like a fuse. The cruiser was nearly disintegrated entirely, two shattered halves flying in opposite directions, one crashing through a deck of hydroponics on the station and lodging itself in the side of the command deck, the other slamming into a cruiser that had been floating lazily behind its comrade. The fuel line, now completely destroyed, disappeared into the station, and Traven held his breath, watching as the windows lit up with flames just before an entire deck blew apart, the chain reaction tearing an arm off the station and dropping it towards the planet below. The sensors of the other ships registered that the capital ship had just fired on the station, nearly splitting the huge metal construction in two and killing a good five thousand fellow Mandalorians, and Traven knew that they were trying to find out what was happening.

"Fire again," Traven said. The freighter's laser turned and fired at the station's command deck, blasting through the lowered shields and tearing the entire bridge apart in a torrent of green light. That was the last straw apparently, as fighters were scrambled from the station's bays in droves, the small, seemingly insignificant ships whizzing towards the capital ship like angry gnats. The cruisers opened up, their broadsides blasting into the side of their fellow Mandalorian vessel in an attempt to knock down its impenetrable seven thousand gigajoule shield capacity.

"Raisha, take us down to the surface. Is the cloaking failing?"

"We got two minutes. Entry will take twenty, and we're probably going to crash land. I used our landing gear to get us out of the debris field," she muttered, before raising her voice urgently. "Burns, get down here and strap in, this is going to get rough!"

"Aye, Lieutenant," the corporal said, and Traven took a seat int eh co-pilots chair, shutting off the magnetic clamps and focusing the targeting computer on any fighters within two thousand meters. He could hear it start firing as Raisha took them through the crossfire, shields taking a heavy pounding from a cruiser that registered them as part of the capital ship before the computer saw them disappear from sensors, as if destroyed. Sparks ran across the dashboard as Raisha hissed, slamming on the afterburner and launching them towards the planet. Traven was relieved when the conflict was left behind, but the hard part was coming up.

"Well," Raisha said, gritting her teeth in concentration. "We're home free. Now I just have to land this slag heap."

Kalloway pulled the kinetic buckle over his chest and secured it to the clasp. Traven and Burns did the same, causing Raisha to bark out a laugh. "Don't you trust me?" she asked. After a pause, "Don't answer that."

They hit the atmosphere like a meteor, shields at just a high enough strength to keep them intact through their descent. The temperature did start to rise, however, despite the concussion shields' best efforts to keep the friction at bay. The ship rocked violently, like a carnival ride that was missing a few necessary pieces, and Traven wondered idly if the communications array was even going to work once they landed. He was about to find out. It took them a few minutes to break the cloud cover of the planet, since they weren't going straight towards the surface, instead approaching at an angle to lessen the force of their impact. When the clouds parted and revealed the icy wasteland that was the planet's large northern pole, Traven realized just how frigid the swoop bike section of the journey was going to be. He didn't have much time to think of anything else before the ground was rushing up to meet the shuttle, the stabilizer struggling in vain to hold them in the air, and the spent landing gear sputtered out the last few bursts of thrust before the ship struck the icy ground, a plume of sow blasting up over the cockpit as all four SIS agents were thrown forwards in their seats, the metal of the hull screaming with stress as it tried to keep from crunching into the ground. They skidded for almost thirty seconds before shuddering to a halt, the interior of the ship filling with acrid black smoke from the destroyed engines.

Traven was on his feet immediately, activating the communications system and sending the message back to the _Invulnerable, _with an addition of his own. "The juma-juice is warm. Party's over."

He hoped they would understand that it meant they had encountered issues. Frankly, as long as they showed up in two hundred sixteen hours, he was alright with whatever they understood of his message. If it was even intact.

Kalloway coughed as he inhaled a lungful of smoke, and he pounded Traven on the back, staggering up the slight slope of the ship's hallway. "We need to get out of here! Carbon monoxide!"

"Raisha, activate self destruct!" Traven said. The Mandalorians would send a platoon to check out the cool space wreck eventually, and Traven couldn't allow the information on his ship computer to end up in their hands.

"Aye, Commander!"

"Burns, get the charges, Kalloway, help me with the bikes," Traven barked, running through the smoky hallways to the cargo hold, snatching his sidearm and assault rifle before joining Kalloway beside the two thin, sleek, swoop bikes. Throwing his gear into the seat, Traven grabbed it's front and pulled, the wheels on its bottom squealing as he dragged the machinery to the ramp. The ramp was lowered automatically in response to their crash, and Traven only had to roll his bike down it before rushing back to the cargo hold to grab a pack of thirty permacrete explosives and their trigger. The other bag of explosives was gone, so Burns must have taken it already, and Kalloway was wheeling his swoop bike to the ramp. Traven was about to step down the ramp and join Burns when Raisha spoke in his ear over the comm.

"Commander," she said, calm and yet with a tone of urgency. "The belt's stuck."

Traven didn't need any other words to be spoken, throwing the bag of explosives to the snow and darting towards the cockpit, where he found Raisha sitting, yanking at the belt's clasp. It was designed to keep secure in the case of a planetary collision, so neither Raisha nor Traven would be able to yank it free. Traven pulled the dagger from its sheath against his shoulder and started to saw at the material. Raisha looked up at him.

"Commander, self destruct in two minutes," she warned. Traven grunted his acknowledgment and sawed harder, the material of the belt giving way only a millimeter at a time. Sweat started to pour down his brow as he worked, more from the tension than from the exertion.

"Fifty seconds," Raisha said.

Traven swore and ordered Kalloway and Burns to stand back. The belt only had a centimeter left...

"Commander, just leave..."

"I'm not leaving this slag heap without my Lieutenant!" he roared, cutting through the belt and nicking her shoulder with the edge of the blade, taking her arm in his hand ad sprinting up the slope. They both heard the hiss of the hyperdrive going critical, and Traven had time only to throw Raisha to the snow at the foot of the ramp, covering her body with his larger form as the ship exploded violently, the ball of flame shooting up into the sky in a roiling ball of black smoke and bluish flames. A large slab of metal struck Traven's back, pushing Raisha and him deeper into the snow, and he heard several other hunks of the ship crash down on top of that, but when the sound died down and Burns' frantic shouts filled his helmet, Traven was alive.

"Raisha?" Traven asked, unable to push himself off of her due to the durasteel on his back.

She groaned and moved, pushing and elbow unintentionally against his gut. "You're a fatass, Commander."

Traven rolled his eyes inwardly. "Kalloway!" he shouted into the comm, causing everyone to wince.

"Commander?"

"How much metal is on top of me?"

There was silence for a long moment as footsteps approached Traven's heap of metal. Traven could hear Kalloway swear under his breath and knew that it was bad. "Uh...a lot, Commander."

"You better get to work, Sergeant, 'cause I'm not lying here under the Commander's...bulk for more than ten minutes!" Raisha ordered with mock severity. Kalloway and Burns both chuckled as they set to work tearing the slag off of their commanding officers.

* * *

Dagary Minor, 7 Hours After the Transmission

Traven was glad to be able to pull himself out of the snow as the last slab of durasteel was pulled from his back by his sweating squadmates. A frigid wind rushed across the flat wastelands and slapped him in the face as he stood, causing a shudder to run down his entire frame and his teeth to chatter uncontrollably. He shook it off and helped Raisha to her feet as well. The squad hesitated, knowing that it would be the last time they saw each other for almost a week and a half.

"Well," Burns said, stepping forward and clipping his commander on the pauldron of his left shoulder. "Look's like we're off."

"Yeah," Traven said, returning the gesture. The two swoop bikes were sitting in the snow, already powered up and waiting for their drivers to sit in the seat. Kalloway slid into the drivers seat, Burns sitting behind him and holding onto his friend's hips.

"Don't get any funny ideas," Kalloway teased. Burns recoiled theatrically, both of the men laughing as the engines roared under Kalloway's feet. "Good luck, commander. I'll cut out of the comm channel now."

"Honor, Truth, Victory," Traven told him just as the channel cut out. He saw Kalloway's confused look at the words, but his swoop bike was already roaring away before he could respond. Traven slid into the seat of the swoop bike, Raisha slipping behind him and scooting forward, wrapping her arms around his waist in a tight grip.

"Thanks for coming to get me, Commander," Raisha told him earnestly, giving him a squeeze. Traven grunted and closed his hands around the handles of his swoop bike.

"Any time," he said, before his bike, too, was roaring through the snow-filled wastes. The wind was biting, and it caused his fingers to quickly go numb, but Traven just kept the bike steady, pushing it to its max speed as he maneuvered around the boulders of ice that stood in his way. The bike projected its weak concussion shields out in front of him to shield his face from any projectiles that might hit him at such a terminal speed, and the bike kicked it into high gear. The speedometer on the small display between Traven's legs showed that they were traveling at almost six hundred kilometers per hour, the landscape blurring around them and obstacles rushing into view before Traven could react. Somehow, he just knew when they were going to hit something, swerving out of the way seconds before it passed them, and he felt Raisha's arms tighten around him at every near miss.

It was several hours before they encountered the Mandalorian patrol, walking around the edge of the thawing plains with guns cradled int heir arms. The patrol was small, only ten or fifteen soldiers, but Traven barely had time to notice them before hey were firing at him and his bike passed them, leaving the foot soldiers behind in a tenth of a second. He swore loudly, even though he couldn't hear it over the roar of the engines, and knew that they would only have a few more minutes on the bike before they would be in danger of a missile strike. He brought them to the edge of the jungle before stopping, vaulting off of the swoop bike and swinging his assault rifle into his arms as he ran into the foliage, Raisha at his heels.

"We can't stay near the bike. They'll hit it with a missile from one of these bases and send patrols to search for the rider. The bike was only designed for one, so they probably won't look for both of us. Stay in visual range," Traven said. Raisha nodded, taking her own assault rifle in her arms, and they began to make their way through the jungle. Neither of them mentioned that they were an extra one hundred kilometers away from their target.

* * *

Burns and Kalloway were fortunate enough to reach their destination on the bike, but when they arrived, they found that the 'holes' in the sensor network that they had been told existed had either bee remedied int eh time it took for them to arrive, or they had been lied to. As the bike slowed to a halt, a whole platoon of Mandalorian soldiers burst from the underbrush around them, guns pointed at the two SIS agents, bayonets glinting sharply in the light. It looked vaguely like a firing line advancing ominously across the clearing. Kalloway swore under his breath, putting one hand up and using the other to discreetly set the bike to lurch forward in thirty seconds, hopefully providing a distraction that would let them get away into the jungle.

Burns helped Kalloway off of the bike, faking a trip and handing the Twi'Lek a smoke grenade as he did so, standing up by himself and dusting off his armor. Three...two...one.

The bike suddenly screeched as is engines rose to full speed, rocketing through two of the soldiers and into a tree, the explosion rocking though the clearing like an earthquake. Kalloway tossed the smoke grenade to the ground, immediately ducking beneath lances of blaster fire that shot by over his head. His gun was nestled in his arms, firing constantly at various targets through the sheen of smoke. There were cried of shock and pain as Burns and Kalloway made their way into the jungle, the pounding of feet behind them filling their senses and the spluttering of blaster rifles crashing through the jungle's peaceful environment.

"Burns, go that way!" Kalloway shouted, pointing in the opposite direction. The corporal obliged, turning sharply to the left as the Mandalorians burst through the foliage, two of them falling to Kalloway's blaster fire and the rest targeting the man sprinting away into the dark shadows of the trees. Kalloway stayed only a moment loner, three more of the enemy falling to his precise shots before he took a blast to the thigh and limped out of sight, leaving the Mandalorians in disarray and confusion.

Kalloway kept running, regardless of whether he was being chased or not. His visor told him that his objective was three hundred kilometers southeast of his current position, and that Burns was currently seven hundred meters to his west, and he adjusted his direction so that he would meet up with his partner.

"Burns! What's your status? I lost mine," Kalloway whispered.

Burns was breathing heavily when he replied. "They're still on me! I can't..."

Three blaster shots reached Kalloway over the speaker, and the connection cut. The indicator on Kalloway's helmet winked out, and Kalloway stopped, staring at where it had been in shock. He was alone.

A/N: This chapter was revised 8/23/2013


	21. Part 2 Chapter 14

A/N: So, at the pace that I'm taking Traven's special mission, it's going to take a lot of chapters. Should I make it less detailed to speed things up, or keep it the way it is. I'll let you decide, and if no one tells me anything, then it'll happen my way.

Chapter 20

The bridge of the _Invulnerable _had been somewhat calm in the days since Traven left on his assignment, operating as if he had never been here in the first place, providing a presence on the observation deck that Sasha was finding herself sorely missing. She was just glad that they hadn't gotten into any fights while he was gone, or the ship might not still be in such good condition, considering her very poor skills at being a general. Traven could say all he wanted about logic being the hardest part of commanding a fleet, but it wouldn't change that fact that Sasha had a hard time thinking logically when she _wasn't _holding the lives of several thousand people in her hands. Fortunately for her, the ship has been orbiting Arkania for four days so far, waiting for the message from Traven that would tell them whether or to to prepare for the assault.

The Arkanians and their off-shoots hadn't been particularly pleased with the huge Republic fleet orbiting their world and taking their supplies, but it was necessary, and they had eventually relented enough to grant the Republic use of their shipyards. The Arkanians were an arrogant species, and they had felt that the lesser races of the Republic shouldn't have rights to their ships and stations, but the leadership of the planet had decided to allow it, despite the general populations dislike of the decision. It was probably an attempt to hide their illegal mining activities from the Republic eye, and if it had been, it was working.

Revan's fleet was still on the front lines further south, fighting in a skirmish, but he had promised that Meetra Surik would he able to preside over the attack, knowing Sasha's discomfort in command. Sasha was glad for that; it would give her a chance to head down to the surface and participate in the fighting there, as opposed to watching it all from space. Padawan Meetra Surik was young, but she was a powerful figure in command, and even though she still had her student's pigtail on the left side of her hair, she had better lightsaber skills than half the Jedi in the Order and a calm, persuasive disposition to match it. The perfect Jedi, when it came down to it. And she was fighting a war that the Council didn't approve of. Sasha felt safe with Meetra in command.

She felt _safer_ with Traven at her back, but at the moment, he was twenty light-years away, already a day late in sending the message, and it was making her anxious. If he didn't send the message soon, then the fleet would assume the mission failure and try a different tactic at taking the planet, leaving Traven in enemy territory with no backup for weeks while they prepared. The chances of survival in that position were frighteningly low, especially considering his Echani blood. The Mandalorians had taken great pleasure in murdering Echani prisoners on their attack on Eshan during the Great Sith War, and despite the fact that the Echani wiped out the entire attacking fleet, the actions of the Mandalorians in the midst of the attack had been irreparable to the Echani people. Eshan was struggling not to fall into famine after the recent attack, and Echani refugees were flocking to Nar Shadaa and Coruscant in waves. It was regrettable, considering the majesty of their homeworld, but the Mandalorians would pay for their actions there a the end of the war. Revan had promised that they would.

The bridge felt devoid of life without Traven's bustling mind at her side, but Sasha was still aware of the small things that happened around her. Like the captain's shoulders stensing when a message arrived on the ship's official network, loading quickly before playing over the speakers of the observation deck. The few mutterings of the officers behind them quieted as static burst forward.

"...juice...s...warm...arty's...ver..." Traven's voice filtered through the white noise. The captain seemed confused, but to Sasha, the words were as clear as day, and she repeated it.

"The juma-juice is warm. Party's over," she clarified, and the captain cast her a startled look.

"General," he said, chuckling. "I almost forgot you were there. How can you understand that?"

I was most likely due to the fact that she shared a bond with Traven, but she didn't tell the captain that. "I sense it,"she said simply. The captain nodded his head and stood sharply.

"We better start getting ready then. They'll need us in two hundred sixteen hours sharp."

Sasha didn't know why, but she had a feeling that the two words that the captain seemed to have missed at the end of the message meant something bad had happened. 'Party's over,' he had said. A sinking feeling fell to the pit of her stomach like a frozen stone, and the hairs along her arms stood up. She hoped that he was alright.

* * *

Dagary Minor, 15 Hours After the Transmission

Traven and Raisha had been walking at a brisk pace for almost eight hours, and the sun of Dagary Minor had dipped below the horizon in the east, opposite of Coruscant's sunset, but they had only managed to walk ten of the five hundred kilometers that was required to reach the base. Eventuall, Traven stopped, listening carefully for the sounds of the Mandalorians that were following them, before uncloaking himself to give the stealth generator a break and turning to where he knew Raisha was standing.

"We aren't going to make it like this," he said quietly, under noise of the fauna around them. "We need a new plan."

Raisha also uncloaked, her visor tinted with the light-enhancing features that SIS armor was privileged with. The moonlight, as sparse as it was, was as bright as the sunlight through the visor, and it gave them an edge when fighting in the dark. "I didn't want to say anything, but you're right," she said. "What did you have in mind."

Traven thought for a long time, listening idly to the sounds of the animals around him, before he hefted his assault rifle higher up on his back and grinned mischievously when it clanked softly against his armor. "You have your assault rifle, right?"

"Yeah," Raisha said. "Jungles aren't very good for sniper rifles."

"It was the correct decision," he said. "But right now, we need to improvise. Without a mode of transport, we'll never make it to the base in time, or with any reasonable amount of energy. We should steal one, but it won't be easy. Take your belt, dagger, and sidearm and take the armor off, but leave your helmet. We can use the daggers to make it look like you were in a fight with an animal, scratch marks, anything. I'll cut my hand and put blood on our armor and guns, especially the bayonets, then we'll throw the pieces around and hide in the trees. The Mandalorians will think we were killed by predators."

Traven had tried a similar tactic on Taris during one of his previous missions, faking his own death at the hands of rakghoul, only to reappear and take down an entire mercenary organization. It had been a very thrilling mission, but not a real challenge, considering the general arrogance and stupidity of most mercenaries. Raisha, however, looked skeptical. "That doesn't get us any loser to the base, Commander. It will take a lot of blood to make it look like we were killed."

Traven shook his head. "All I need to do is smear the bayonets with it. If it looks like we put up a fight, then the Mandalorians will fall for it. Besides, why chase us if we're wounded and not wearing armor, even if we are alive? Their arrogant enough to stop following us."

"What then?" Raisha asked. "We're still four hundred eighty kilometers away from the target. And I think that Madalorians are honor-bound enough to hunt us down and save us from the predator,only to kill us themselves."

"Then, we start following them," Traven said, suppressing a smirk. This was no time for jokes. "They have to sleep sometime. When we know where their speeders are, we kill them and take their bikes. Getting to the base will be easy after that."

Raisha shook her head. "They'll use cruise missiles on us."

"The bikes have Mandalorian ID tags, and we'll be wearing Mandalorian armor. They won't fire on the 'survivors,' of the squad they sent after us," Traven said patiently, reasonably. "If we lose those speeders, then we'll improvise, but at least we'll be closer to the base."

Raihsa sighed, and began peeling off her armor. "Fine," she said reluctantly. "It's going to be chilly outside in nothing but a tank top and shorts, though."

"You'll survive," Traven grunted, his armor lying at his feet in less than a minute. He drew his dagger and cut his palm without hesitation, smearing the blood that dripped from the wound across the bayonet and barrel of his rifle, before scratching the finish all across the side and putting two punctures on the casing that looked like bite marks. He saw that Raisha did the same, tearing a strip off of the hem of her white tank top to wrap her hand. Traven took a roll of bandages from his belt and wrapped his wound that way, picking up a piece of armor and mutilating it with his dagger before tossing it to the dirt. It took awhile, but when everything had been said and done, it looked like someone had been murdered in the small clearing. Traven had even killed some of the flora to make it look even more realistic, spreading a bit of blood on the largest of the planets to make it look like blood spatter. The Mandalorians wouldn't even notice it, he reckoned, but ti was better to be safe than sorry. With his hand throbbing, he joined Raisha at the edge of the clearing and rubbing his hands together, the rough bandages stinging his cut.

When they were finished, the clearing looked like a whole platoon had fought a war for hours in that spot, boasting deep furrows marking claw marks in the ground and against most trees, torn pieces of armor strewn throughout the shredded foliage, and two discarded, bloodied assault rifles with attached bayonets.

"Get into the tree. Get as high as you can, I'll stay a little lower. Just follow me when I start to move," Traven said. Raisha nodded and grabbed onto a branch, hoisting herself silently into the crown of the towering plant. Traven tried not to notice how nice the shorts she was wearing fit her as she climbed, but it was easier said than done. She obviously hadn't been expecting to take her armor off during the course of the mission. Traven followed her after a moment, staying low enough that he could see the clearing below with clarity, clutching his dagger tightly in one hand, the long, serrated length of cortosis weave steel calming his frayed nerves. Raisha settled a few branches above, her dagger in a similar position, and they waited.

For a very long time.

The Mandalorian squad that found them was a stealth group, wearing stealth generators similar to those that Traven and Raisha had on their belts. They deactivated with a subtle sound of wind shifting, and after a moment, Traven's visor identified six hostile targets, closing in on the clearing with vibroswords in their hands. Traven knew that the Mandalorians could be stealthy when they needed to be, and he was glad that they hadn't run into any squads like this one while they had been walking. His helmet enhanced his hearing when it sensed them talking, and Traven listened carefully.

"Hey, look at this," one of them said, picking up Raisha's rifle. The blood had dried on the tip by now, but it still looked gruesome enough. "Looks like they ran into a Myrtek, from the claw marks."

"Their armor's completely destroyed," another said.

The leader, however, didn't seem impressed. "Where are the bodies, then?"

There was a brief silence, and Traven heard Raisha click her stealth generator on. He followed suit, wincing at the soft buzzing sound that it made as it hid his form from view, making him little more than a shimmer in the air. He cursed himself for the slip, knowing that he should have activated the belt the moment he heard footsteps, instead of waiting for them to draw near enough to hear the activation. Luckily, his mistake went unnoticed by the platoon below, and he calmed his pounding heart with a deep breath. "A Myrtek wouldn't leave any bodies, Remlin. It'll tear your armor off and eat you whole."

Hmph. It looks like Traven had picked a good planet to try this ruse on. "I'm not buying it. Where's all the blood? It could be a trick."

"Why kind of idiot would march around in _this _jungle without a rifle and armor?" another Mandalorian, previously silent, spoke. "Let's just get back to base. There's the matter of preparing for the Republic assault that we need to deal with."

Traven's blood ran cold. They knew? How could they have known unless...Grolm had lied. He was tempted to swear explosively in that moment, knowing that Kalloway and Burns were walking into a trap on the opposite side of the planet and there was nothing he could do to warn them. But if the Republic was going to win the battle when they arrived, Traven needed to complete his mission and see how much havoc he could wreck while he was still planet-side.

"Yeah," Remlin relented. "Fine. We'll head back to the speeders, and I want to get there before we sleep tonight."

The chorus of groans and complaints were highly unprofessional, and they gave Traven a hint at just how far away the speeders were. Remlin was unamused.

"If you want to get there faster, you can run, and get killed by one of those dame Falmurs while you're at it," he said. "Now let's get going. Don't cloak, we won't be able to make it tonight if you do."

Perfect. Now all Traven and Raisha had to do was keep up silently. That was going to be a harder task than it sounded, but the Jungle was luckily rather tightly packed, and the sounds of the large variety of insects would be enough to cover up the occasional noise. Sine he wasn't wearing boots, he didn't really have to worry about his footsteps reaching the Mandalorians, since the were nearly twenty feet down, but if he broke a branch, they would hear it. Even with old armor like the kind the Neo-crusaders used, it still gave the user a slight bonus to hearing. The visor's display was clunky and slow, however, and it would only do one thing at a time, which was why Traven preferred the SIS helmets.

The Mandalorians, at least, knew that wearing a helmet with an electronic visor was better than just wearing that stupid cap that the standard Republic soldier wore, and that was probably why they could make their strategies work so much better. They knew where their allies were, even if they were twenty kilometers away. The Republic needed to use radios to confirm that, and it took longer. This, combined with the fact that the Republic soldiers were mostly young men that had very little training and the low quality of their armor and weapons, meant that the odds had been stacked against the Republic for the beginning when it came to fighting on the ground. As the Mandalorians started moving, Traven followed them in the treetops, jumping the distance to the next tree, the stealth generator shutting off as he did. He was safely in the next tree's crown seconds later, already moving to jump again to keep up with the briskly walking Mandalorians. He hoped that he could keep up.

* * *

Dagary Minor, 21 Hours After the Transmission

Kalloway was running on stimulants and adrenaline at this point, pulling his combat dagger from the chest of a Mandalorian soldier and lowering him quietly to the ground before jogging into the foliage, stealth generator activating as he ran to keep him silent and unseen. He had run into three patrols already, and none of them had really been able to touch him one his stealth generator kicked in, but he had still taken a nasty blow to the shoulder from a Mandalorian stealth trooper with a vibrosword, and several shots to the left thigh with a blaster, two of which his armor had deflected. The third required a shot of kolto.

He couldn't say that it was his cleanest work. He usually tried to complete his mission without killing anyone, since leaving bodies meant leaving evidence, but he had left almost thirty bodies in his wake, strewn in various positions throughout the jungle, and the shouts of more patrols chasing him reached his ears even through the sonic dampeners of the stealth generator. He paused as a group of Mandalorians rushed past him, not three meters away from him, before continuing towards his objective, limping slightly on his left side and shaking his head in dismay. He still had almost a hundred fifty kilometers left to trek, as well as explosives to place and a base to obliterate. He wondered if he had enough stimulants for this. Just then, a Mandalorian rushed out of the bushed to his right, and Kalloway was moving before the man could notice the shimmering air. An arm pushed the bayonet of the rifle to the ground, the instinctive blaster shot digging into the soil as the nine-inches of metal dug into his neck. The soldier jerked once, and Kalloway was running, not even bothering with his stealth as he plowed though the bushed. His rifle had been lost in a scuffle several hours ago, he didn't remember when, and he didn't want to risk the sidearm, no with an army searching for him like they were.

He burst into a clearing and immediately regretted it, stopping to stare at the group of five Mandalorians with vibroswords that stood in his way. Kalloway groaned and moved forward, ducking below two swings and stabbing the first in the side, just below the ribs, before spinning to the side, holding his sword close to his chest and throwing the Mandalorian into his friend, the dagger shooting out to deflect a swing that was aiming for his neck before driving up under the chin of another. He grunts as the only standing Mandalorian grabbed him in a bear hug, but it backfire on his when Kalloway elbowed him, the spikes on his armor piercing into the Mandalorians side and forcing him to release the Twi'lek, who spun and slit the mans throat before bounding off into the forest. Add two more bodies to the quickly rising count, plus a mortally wounded soldier that would require care. He didn't have to worry about the last Mandalorian following him, unless he wanted to leave his brother in arms to die on the forest floor.

He didn't really know how he was going to destroy the base when he got there, since Burns was the one that had been carrying the charges, but he would improvise. He was good at improvising.

Kalloway cursed between pants as he ran. One hundred forty-eight kilometers to go.

A/N: Revised 8/23/2013


	22. Part 2 Chapter 15

A/N: School starts tomorrow or me, and I doubt that I will be able to update twice a day, as I have been for the past week. I will still endeavor to write as much as possible, but I do not know how much time I will have. Just a warning, so that I don't get any reviews or PM's asking me why I have ceased to write like a madman. Sometimes, the boring aspects of life get in the way.

Chapter 21

Dagary Minor, 25 Hours After the Transmission

The Mandalorian stealth patrol had reunited with the guards that they had left to defend the speeder bikes and immediately set about the task of preparing for a good night's rest. After an eight hour forced march across the jungle, they needed it dearly. Little did they know that two pairs of eyes were watching them from the trees above, slight shimmers of air against the darkened night sky of Dagary Minor, the canopy of leaves obscuring even the brightest of the stars. Dagary Minor had dark, dark nights, a fact that was going to help Traven and Raisha greatly in their task. As the group of eight Mandalorian soldiers laid their bedrolls out onto the forest floor and collapsed onto them, Traven watched their breathing carefully, the visor scanning their heart rates and reporting whether or not they were asleep. he was tired as well, and watching someone else enjoy the luxury of sleep while the same was withheld was torture, but he endured it for near thirty minutes, until all but one lone sentry were lost in dreams.

Traven caught Raisha's attention and used sign language to communicate. 'I'll take the awake one.'

'I'll wait,' she replied.

Traven nodded once and began to move forward, silent as death itself as he ghosted across the trecherous forest floor,avoiding twigs and other items that would announce his presence tot eh sentry that was sitting at the edge of the clearing, an assault rifle laid across his lap with a gleaming bayonet. The soft metallic ring of his sharpener sliding across the edge of the bayonet was heard as Traven took a step closer, his footfall remaining completely silent. Only a master would be able to keep their feet so sure as to avoid making noise on a bed of dried leaves and brittle twigs, but Traven was indeed a master, and he was soon standing less than an arms length away from the sentry, gripping his invisible dagger in a similarly hidden hand. He reached out, the air shimmering slightly from the movement, cast a quick prayer to Svy for forgiveness, and killed the sentry with a quick pull og his arm, cutting the windpipe and vocal cords in one slash. The only sound was a quiet gurgle as the soldier scrambled to breath, and Traven held him up as the life ebbed away. he was dead in less than a minute, and Traven lowered him gently to the ground, like a father putting his son to sleep, before turning with the now bloody dagger to stare into the forest. He saw the telltale rustle of bushes that told him Raisha was moving forward, similar in her movements and just as expertly silent. He had, after all, taught her. When he approached the sleeping Mandalorians, Traven almost wanted to wake them up, give them a chance to fight back, but he knew that it was simply his Echani sense of chivalry speaking. Shaking his head with regret, he hefted the dagger in his hand.

The others died quickly.

Traven and Raisha stripped two of the soldiers of their armor, sliding it on but keeping their own helmets. It was necessary for them to have an SIS helmet, even if its intelligence was somewhat corrupted due to Grolm's lies, because it was telling them the directions, as well as the vitals of their partner. It also helped to have enhanced hearing and sight, but the helmet was more important because it held information about the SIS, meaning that they could never leave it behind unless it was rendered unusable.

Traven picked up two of the helmets, however, knowing that the ID signature of the visor's computer would keep them from being blasted off the face of Dagary Minor with a cruise missile, but he simply strapped them to the side of the chosen bike. Unfortunately, the Mandalorians fought in heavy armor, and Traven was forced to don the restricting equipment because it was better than wearing simple cloth. That didn't mean he was going to be happy about it, though, and he shrugged the heavy suit of plastisteel, slightly bloodied from the previous owner, with a look of disgust on his face. And it wasn't because of the blood.

When they were finally ready, Raisha tied the bag of explosives to the back of the same bike as Traven, sliding onto the seat behind him and scooting close, wrapping arms around his waist to secure her position. Knowing that his eyebrows were raised with amused curiosity, she snorted sarcastically.

"Don't get any funny ideas, I just don't want to risk getting separated," she explained.

Traven shrugged. It was a good chance to allow one of them, at least, to sleep. "See if you can't get some sleep while I drive. We'll need it."

Her arms tightened about his waist, her head fell to rest the back of his shoulder, and Traven began moving, leaving seven speeder bikes and eight corpses in his wake. As they pulled away into the jungle, Raisha spoke, softly, but firmly. "We're switching in four hours."

* * *

Dagary Minor, 32 Hours After the Transmission

Kalloway eventually had to stop and rest. A stimulant would only keep you awake for so long, and now, there was absolutely now way that he was going to risk another fight when he was practically falling unconscious with every step. Admittedly, he could have used another stimulant, but living off of stims for more than twenty hours was straining on the heart and it frayed the nerves, and Kalloway was willing to risk an hour of sleep if it would keep him sane and healthy. He pulled himself into a tree and found a place where he could rest without risk of falling out quickly, but his eyes were dropping closed even as he moved towards it, and he didn't notice the dark figure that was sitting on a nearby branch, watching him with shock and relief.

"Kalloway?" the tired voice whispered urgently. The Twi'lek started and his dagger, bent slightly and notched from the work it had received that day, was in his hand as if it had simply materialized there. When the voice registered in his mind, though, the weapon almost dropped from his hands.

"Burns?!" he whispered back, looking at the other man closely. To put it plainly, he looked like hell. His face was streaked with the distinct streaks and cuts of a frag grenade blast, and his armor was shattered and torn in a dozen different places, revealing burnt, cut, shredded, and bruised skin underneath. Blood was soaking the front of his armor, and Kalloway was having a hard time deciding if it was from the cut along his shoulder or from the enemies that he had killed during his flight. What was interesting, however, was that there were only two blaster burns on his chest, both of them still oozing blood slowly and inflamed. "I heard three shots."

"The last hit my helmet," Burns replied, immediately understanding his friend's meaning. He pointed to his head, which was bare, before sighing and letting his hand fall back to his side. He tucked his other deeper into his armpit and winced. His eyes were hollow, the eyes of a man that thought he was a dead man walking. "I managed to get out, but they were chasing me for a long time. Heard that you killed quite a few of them. I was just resting up for my final stand, you know? I don't even know where I'm going."

"I do," Kalloway said, trying to reassure his friend. "You still have the explosives?"

"Aye," Burns said, lifting the bag that was resting between his legs. "One of the only things I still have."

He raised his arm from his armpit in explanation, and Kalloway saw the bleeding stump at the wrist before it registered that the hand was gone. "Dammit," he swore, a little too loudly, pulling the medical supplies off his belt and tossing them to Burns. "Get yourself in shape. I need to rest, then we can get moving again. We're one hundred thirty kilometers out."

Burns nodded, taking the supplies and getting to work on his hand. Kalloway laid himself gingerly down on the branches that he had spotted, sighing softly and closing his eyes. He didn't worry about his friend for very long before sleep took him.

He didn't get to sleep much longer than an hour, since Burns heard the patrols approaching, but an hour was better than nothing. Usually, Kalloway would have stayed in the treetops, but Burns couldn't climb with his hand, so they would be forced to make the march on foot. It was probably less taxing to jog than it was to climb, anyway. That is, unless they had to fight their way through fifty Mandalorian soldiers. The two friends started off towards their target once more, the moon of Dagary Minor shining down on their heads as they ran At this rate, they would probably reach the base on the third day, as opposed to the fourth, like Traven had predicted. They were heading into the second already, but they only had roughly a hundred kilometers to go.

Both of them ignored the fact that without a hand, Burns would be unable to do much in terms of infiltration.

* * *

Dagary Minor, 78 Hours After the Transmission

Three days. Traven and Raisha had been traveling for three days, and they had already reached the edge of the crater. Only fifty kilometers of completely flat, exposed wasteland with no cover to speak of separated them from their target. They arrived at the edge of the crater at dawn, legs aching from the long ride and muscles stiff from the workout they had received to get the bike in the first place. They had remained surprisingly unnoticed as they moved across the landscape, if you didn't count the two attempts by the Mandalorian command to contact them via the communicators in their helmets. By now, they should have realized that something was wrong, but, judging from the way that the Mandalorians talked about the predators of this planet, it was obviously not that uncommon for soldiers to go missing in the jungles. Perhaps they had just assumed the worst and ignored the possibility that the two fugitives had survived, despite the fact that they had been reported dead. Being dead had a lot of advantages, actually, and Traven was willing to take advantage of all of them.

One of those advantages was that no one was looking for you. The downside to this was that any computer that asked for identification wouldn't accept the code of the visor Traven had strapped to the bike, since the wearer had been reported dead. And if he did, somehow, manage to convince the computer that he was indeed alive, the alert would go to every outpost within communications range. So Traven would be avoiding computers, for now.

Raisha, on the other hand, was enjoying the information that the Mandalorian visors had provided them with. As it turns out, General Grolm had not only lied to them about the sensor network, but also about the size and strength of the Mandalorian garrison on the surface. Both the orbital fleet and the ground forces were larger than Grolm had specified. Apparently, they expected the Republic to attack with a small strike force, and not a full battle fleet. Traven wondered if Revan had planned for this, or if it had been simple luck. Either way, he hoped to send a message to the Republic that told them they had been lied to, if only to prevent their surprise when they reach the system and find a fully armed defense fleet waiting for them. That is, if the little scuffle Traven had caused didn't destroy the capital ship, which would be absurd, considering the size and strength of such vehicles.

The visor also told them that the crater base had a backdoor.

The downside of having a computer in your helmet was that if someone else got a hold of it, they had all that information. That was one reason why the Republic military wasn't using them. Traven and Raisha set the backdoor as their waypoint and made their way to the bunker that was indicated, finding it to be heavily defended and armed to the teeth. It, however, wasn't in the middle of a flat approach, meaning that it was much easier to infiltrate than the fortress fifty kilometers away.

"Some backdoor," Raisha scoffed, looking at the huge bunker and its patrolling soldiers. Traven grunted.

"Tunnels, I'd wager," he said. "They're probably a labyrinth, too, knowing the Mandalorians."

"They haven't had enough time for something like that, have they?" Raisha asked, skeptical. Traven shrugged.

"I don't know. Doesn't much matter, considering that we can't get in," he said, sighing. Raisha shook her head, lifting the bag of permacrete explosives.

"I don't care how thick that door is, Commander," she said. Traven grinned, but shook his head.

"We can't do that, they'll have the defenses up before we can say 'Mandalorian,'" Traven said. Raisha crossed her arms and huffed.

"You got a better idea?"

Traven sighed. "How good is your Mando'a?"

* * *

Traven was sitting with his automatic blaster pistol in his right hand, Raisha's SIS helmet in the other watching as Raisha took a deep breath. She looked like a good Mandalorian neo-crusader, wearing the blue full helm and body armor that had come to be the distinct feature of Mandalorian infantry. He activated the blaster and fingered the trigger, watching her closely as she bounced on the balls of her feet. Traven hoped that this worked. There were about ten guards on the surface, but the garrison inside the bunker was unknown. Traven was hoping that his plan would open the doors long enough for Raisha to slip inside while he distracted the men they sent out. At a nod from Raisha, he leveled the blaster at her and started firing. The shots missed her by centimeters, scorching the back of her armor as she burst from the bushes, waving her arms frantically. She tried to make herself sound masculine and terrified at the same time, and she puled it off quite well, actually. She even held her side, as if his shot had actually hurt her. Traven held the trigger, the blaster bucking in his hand as it shot volleys of three shots towards the now running guards. He caught two of them as he ran to the side, making it seem as if there were more than just one assailant.

"Help! We're under attack!" Raisha shouted. The garrison returned fire, but Traven was ducking, and none of their shots even came close. He saw Raisha standing beside the door, acting out of breath, and he saw one of the guards walking over to her. Time to make another distraction. He threw a flash grenade into the clearing of the bunker, running five meters to the left and throwing a frag grenade. There were supposed to be multiple attackers, so he threw two different types of grenades, firing his blaster at the man in the machine-gun nest. All three shots hit the Mandalorian's helmet, and he slumped over the gun. The grenades went off, killing five and stunning three. The doors to the bunker opened, and Raisha slipped in. Traven's job here was done, and he fired several more times before taking off into the forest.

The Mandalorians, thinking that the Republic was attacking, followed him quickly, leaving the bunker with only two guards. Raisha almost laughed at how easy it was to trick them, watching their retreating backs as she held her uninjured side, breathing heavily as if she had taken a shot. One o the two remaining guards walked over to her.

"You're wounded? Come on, we'll get you back to the base," he said, taking her arm. Raisha let him lead her inside the bunker doors, them grabbed him and threw him against the wall, the dagger flashing in the light just before it plunged into his chest. He slumped to the ground, quite dead, and Raisha waited. Traven would be back soon.

She didn't have to wait very long. There was a pounding on the door as Traven returned from the forest, and she opened it with no difficulty, Traven bursting through quickly and ordering her to close it. The doors slammed shut with a resounding bang. Once she stepped away from the terminal, he fired at it, permanently locking the door until someone with tech skills came to hot-wire it.

Panting, Traven patted her on the shoulder. "You make a good Mandalorian coward, Lieutenant," he said. She punched his shoulder, turning to look down the ramp into the bowels of the dark tunnel that the Mandalorians had constructed. She pulled the Mandalorian helmet off and discarded it to the side, beside the dead soldier.

"You think they'll be waiting for us?" she asked. Traven nodded his head as he stepped forward, placing ehr helmet back on her head and smiling briefly.

"I would plan on it," he said. "Let's go, we've got fifty kilometers of underground travel ahead of us."

Raisha groaned and they set off at a run, putting as much distance and the Mandalorians that might follow them through the tunnels as possible.

* * *

"Sir!" a soldier shouted, bursting into the office doors of General Grolms finely furnished quarters. The Mandalorian general in question turned towards the soldier, a very unamused look on his face as he lowered his datapad

"Why are you bursting through my door?" he asked lowly. The soldier paused for a moment, trying to come up with the best excuse possible.

"The tunnel entrance reported that they were attacked. The bunker doors have locked them out," the soldier said. General Grolm sat up straighter.

"Attacked? By what?" Grolm asked urgently, tensing his muscles as if to stand.

"They don't know. Nine men are dead, one injured," the soldier said. "The shots came out of nowhere. We had nothing on sensors."  
"Impossible," Grolm said, relaxing slightly. "The sensor network is infallable. It was probably a grunt from the Ravenbloods."

"That may be, sir, but something attacked the tunnel entrance, and there's a good chance it got through. The doors might be jammed because the terminal was destroyed," the soldier said.

"Send a platoon into the tunnels. I doubt they'll be able to find their way here without the schematics, whoever they are," he said. "We spent three weeks building those tunnels."

"I will do as you say, sir," the soldier said, leaving through the door before Grolm could reprimand him for bursting into his office. The Mandalorian general grunted and turned back to his datapad, shaking his head at the incompetence of his men. They might fare well in a battle, but when it came to common sense, it seemed that they were lacking every bit of it.

A/N: Revised 8/23/2013


	23. Part 2 Chapter 16

A/N: School sucks. That's enough explanation for my absence.

Chapter 22

Dagary Minor, 95 Hours After the Transmission

The Mandalorians had not given up their search for Kalloway and Burns, but they had been left behind as the two SIS agents made quick work of the remaining kilometers separating them from their target. They were only ten kilometers away, and the anxiety of being so close and yet unable to reach their destination was starting to grate on both of their nerves. A large portion of the Mandalorian garrison was out in the jungles, trying to catch the two illusive enemies that had killed over a hundred of their number in the past four days. Burns was growing tired, the missing hand fatiguing him more than he cared to admit, and he felt utterly worthless to Kalloway as he trudged behind to determined Twi'Lek in silence, his one remaining hand grasped firmly around the bag of explosives. Kalloway's visor indicated that the jungle would be thinning out soon, giving way to the spattering of trees that surrounded the base. Kalloway was worried that they would just have to go in guns blazing and hope they survived long enough to detonate the bombs. Traven would be livid if he sacrificed himself to complete the mission, but considering the state that Burns was in, there was no way that they were going to fight the whole garrison of the military base, and he doubted he would be able to sneak around with his comrade's injuries.

He would go in alone, and he would die alone if he did.

"What are we gonna do when we get there," Burns asked softly, barely loud enough for the other SIS agent to hear him. Kalloway only grunted and kept moving, his steps crunching into the peat forest floor with every step. "Come on, we have to have a plan or we're just going to get ourselves killed."

"Maybe that is the plan," Kalloway snapped, immediately regretting it as he was pulled to a halt by a hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, only one of us is useless. You can still do this," he said. Kalloway blinked his surprise and away and shook his head.

"That's nonsense," he said, turning away as if he was about to forget that the conversation had ever happened. Burns was having none of it.

"Says the guy planning to go on some suicide mission," Burns scoffed. "I can draw their attention away and you can get inside."  
"You'll die," Kalloway said bluntly, gesturing to the missing hand. Burns jutted his chin out.

"Everyone dies," he said. "I'll jut be doing it for a purpose."

Kalloway wasn't going to tell his friend how much the thought hurt, how desperately he was hoping for a situation that they could both escape from, so instead he threw up a hastily constructed facade of irritation. "Dammit, Burns!" he started, but it cracked almost instantly. Burns saw through it and sighed, clipping the permacrete explosives to his belt and putting a hand on Kalloway's shoulder.

"Kal," he said softly, forcing the Twi'Lek to look at him with conflicted eyes. "The Republic needs us to destroy those turrets. Those soldiers and engineers have family. Sisters, brothers, mothers, fathers. If I can keep those families from dealing with the loss of their loved one, I will. I have no one's heart to break if I die."

Kalloway snapped them, grabbing Burns' chest plate and slamming the man against a tree. "You're _my _brother, Burns!" he shouted, the words echoing through the trees. Both agents stared at each other in silence, Kalloway's eyes searching his friend's for any indication that he was changing his mind. When there was none, he released his friend and stepped away in disgust, shaking his head.

"You'll come to your senses eventually, Kal," Burns said softly, watching the maroon hands clench into fists. Kalloway started to walk once again.

Kalloway knew that there was a very slim chance of both of them getting out alive. With Burns' injuries and his fatigue, they were bound to make a mistake, and it would undoubtedly cost a life when they did, but he was refusing to believe that the one person who'd been next to him for every battle, every struggle of this damnable war was going to die like an ordinary soldier. How could Burns not see that he was so much more than an expendable asset? He was a man, just like Kalloway and Traven, and people loved him, people that were going to be thrown to the side as he sacrificed himself for strangers. It made Kalloway's eyes sting to even imagine fighting the war without Burns at his six, and he shook his head slowly, willing himself to remain strong.

Not many people knew Burns' past. He had been taken off the streets as a child, a simple pickpocket, and been turned into a killing machine. Burns had been in one of the softer groups, meant more for intelligence gathering than infiltration and elimination, but the training was still brutal and somewhat sadistic. He had heard about what happened to the ones that tried to run from Trauv, their instructor in the art of murder. He had heard the rumors that were spread about Traven among all of the others, calling him a 'child killer.' They were no better, in truth, but it always felt good to belittle and demean someone, to know that, even though it was bad, at least it wasn't the _worst. _Then, Traven would come and instruct them, and their mouths would shut. No one wanted his attention, no one strove to perform for his praise. They just completed what was needed and quickened their pace as they walked away. In hindsight, after seeing that Traven was a victim of circumstance like they all were, Burns felt bad for treating him like he was the boogeyman.

But what he had done _was _evil. There was no way to sugarcoat the killing of children.

Traven wasn't the only one that did it, though. Burns remembered when news spread that the other First Tier agents were being handed those jobs, the shudder that passed through him when he realized that he would have to do it as well. He had almost left, at that point, but he stayed, no because he feared the agents coming after him, although he _did, _but because there was nothing for him out there, in the civilian world. Even if he had been a young man when he was taken in, he had been trained to fight and to kill and to spy, not to make a living int eh world. He had no education, no social skills to speak of beyond what he needed to ft in while he maneuvered to stab a knife into someone's back. There was nowhere to go.

Burns had tried to convince the ones that ran that it was pointless. That they were just making someone else work hard to find them, to carry their limp body back to the cremation chambers. Some of them called him a monster. Others just looked at him sadly as they turned away. They were all killed and brought back, just like Burns had told them they would, and he couldn't even bring himself to find joy in that.

Now, with a missing hand on a damned jungle planet swarming with Mandalorian fools, Burns was getting ready to sacrifice his life for the mission, just as he had been taught to do from the very beginning. A life that he had been told was worthless from his youth, that was geared to be discarded for the betterment of the Republic. A strange sense of calm fell over him, and he closed his eyes for the briefest of moments, feeling the cool jungle air rush over his face as the sun hung ahead of them, peeking through the boughs of the trees. He was ready.

* * *

Traven's entire body shook as the razor-sharp blade slammed into the chest-plate of a Mandalorian soldier, knocking the huge man off his feet and leaving him with broken ribs and a deep ash in his chest. Traven leaped over him, engaging three soldiers at once with his stolen sword, monitoring Raisha's progress on his visor, watching the red blips flicker out as they died to the two deadly SIS agents. Death was such an old companion.

This was the third squad that they had encountered in the tunnels, and they had been down there for almost a day. Traven had spoken the truth when he said it was going to be a labyrinth, and they were having trouble navigating it without the proper directions. The distance to target showed that they were twenty kilometers closer than they had been a day ago, but the Mandalorian soldiers were pouring into the tunnels, looking for the two intruders, and frankly, Traven didn't know how much longer he and Raisha could keep going before they were finally pinned and dealt with.

"Come on," Traven said, running through the scattered corpses and into the main hallway. Raisha was right beside him, holding her own vibrosword tightly in her hand. Their blasters had run out of energy cells quickly, and they had used their spares in the skirmishes with the Mandalorians. Traven hated fighting in the Mandalorian armor, but he had to give them credit for making it nigh impenetrable. He had taken several hits that would have lopped limbs off had it not been for the armor that was encasing his body, but that didn't make it any more enjoyable to be wearing eighty pounds of plastisteel while sprinting madly through dirt hallways. Traven could have always activated the stealth generator, but they would have had to moves lower to do that, and the heavy armor restricted its effectiveness. Not only would they move slower, they would also be unprotected if they were discovered.

They were running out of options, however, and Traven didn't have any special ideas this time. He had never been in a mission where he was forced to fight constantly before, and now that he was, he didn't know what to do.

"Watch out!" Raisha shouted as a Mandalorian squad stepped out of one of the adjoining hallways. Traven swore explosively and swung his sword, burying it into the neck of the nearest soldier before the others could react. Raisha dove into the midst of the four remaining and spun her sword in a web of intricate swings that dazed her opponents. One of the Mandalorians stepped away and tried to fight Traven, swinging once before his knee was broken in two places, crying out as he reflexively lashed out again, only for his hand to be removed at the wrist, followed by his head. Blood spurted into the air like a geyser, onto the front of Traven's armor, and he turned to see Raisha finishing the last of her three.

"What took you so long?" she asked, noticing the decapitated soldier on the ground and shaking her head. "Flashy."

"And bloody," Traven grunted, before resuming their run. Breath was pushing from his body like wind from a bellows, fogging the bottom of his visor as arms and legs pumped, sore legs and tired arms driving him forward, Raisha bounding gracefully beside him. The armor clinked with very step, driving him slightly more insane than he already was, and the Mandalorian visor was starting to flicker from multiple trikes to the head.

"We might need to shed the armor soon and go dark," he warned Raisha between breaths. She nodded behind him, even though he didn't see it, and they continued.

Another hour. Three kilometers closer.

Traven finally had to stop, cramps pulling his side to shreds as he leaned forward, hands on his knees. They had been running very since they fought the first squad, which had been about five or six hours ago, and his body was finally done. Feeling like he was going to retch, he yanked his helmet off and threw it to the ground, the stench of sweat and drying blood hitting him like a brick. He did indeed retch, but he hadn't eaten anything for four days, so his body simply lurched forward, with nothing to purge. Raisha was beside him, looking only slightly better than he, and she patted her commander's back, drawing a rations bar from her belt and shoving it at him.

"Eat it," she said. "I had one yesterday."

One rations bar. It was a field ration, which meant that it had enough nutrients and calories in it to sustain a person for almost two days, but they tasted horrific and the body didn't really respond well to so many calories packed so tightly into a bar. Traven took it and bit the center, not bothering to unwrap it as the bar itself tore through the plastic covering and slid down his throat. Of course, at that exact moment, a group of Mandalorians, bearing vibroswords and other melee weapons like force-pikes, rounded the corner, spotting the two agents and immediately setting upon them. The rest of the ration bar was discarded in favor of Traven's sword, and he put it up just in time to bat away an incoming Force pike. He was sluggish, however, and was struck in the side with a vibrosword, instead.

This was how soldiers died. Once they were hit once, they failed to recover fast enough for the storm of blows that came upon them, and Traven was just a soldier in that moment as a vibrosword crashed into his chest plate like a sledgehammer, cracking the plastisteel and sending him reeling onto a force-pike, the metal tip digging deep into his back. Electricity ran through his body, blinding him with white-hot pain and causing his jaw to clench heard. In a last ditch effort, Traven spun, pulling the spear from his back in the movement and slashing blindly, feeling his sword connect with something soft.

Duck.

Traven did, the blade that would have taken his head off barely missing the top of his skull. Still half-blinded from the Force pike, he stumbled away from the enemies that were quickly surrounding him, shaking his head to clear it and lifting his sword just in time to block a vicious swing, his arms rattling with the impact. Raisha was faring slightly better, facing only four of the fourteen enemies in the patrol, and she watched her commander with worry as she fended off her attackers, wincing when she saw the blood seeping through the hole in the back of his armor.

Ten hostiles, varying heights and builds, wielding melee weapons. Traven's conscious mind withdrew, replaced with something foreign, something of a nature that he had never felt. And he moved, with a speed and a grace that shouldn't have been possible for a human being. The first attack was aimed at his back, and he sensed it without turning, hand flashing out to slap the blade aside on the flat, his own sword retaliating like the strike of a snake, slashing across the throat of the attacker and moving to defend against a separate assault before the first had even completed, this time wincing as his blade struck a force pike. The shock slowed hm briefly, and the enemies closed in, seeing his pause, but then his face tightened, and as three of them came forward at once, Traven felt a cold sense of confidence settle in him, a second wind of energy filling his muscles and his mind focusing on the movements around him. He ducked, sword switching hands to block an attack as the other two soared overhead, and he was moving, stepping forward to grasp the neck of an enemy before pushing him against his friend, a blade scraping across his side as he spun, cutting the head off the soldier standing behind him and driving the others away. Three of the remaining eight surged forward, confident that he had simply gotten lucky with the first two kills, and Traven straightened his posture, feet settling into a position that he had been taught at the Lordran Academy. The posture and stance that was reserved for the Echani dancers, wielding the deadly ritual blade.

The three soldiers were coordinated and strong, but Traven was able to deflect their attacks easily and quickly, knocking their blades to the side and stepping closer, making room for two others to close, a force-pike and a vibrosword swinging forth to strike him. Traven kicked the pike away, the blade scraping across his own for the briefest moment before he was dancing with his enemies, sparks flying as their blades moved in a delicious complimentary weave. Traven could _feel _their awe as he held them to a stalemate, blocking attacks from three different angles with ease, as if he could see their movements before they were made. Every strike rattled his arms, and notched the cortosis-weave of his vibrosword, but he kept pushing against his enemies until, finally, one of his attacks met flesh. Slipping between the plates of his shoulder, the sword cut deeply of the soldier's flesh, and he staggered at the blow, but Traven paid him no attention, knowing that he would return with a weapon in his other hand. He blocked seven more attacks,pushing the force-pike into the way of a vibrosword and crossing two other blades in front of him, forcing the Mandalorians to waste precious milliseconds pulling their weapons back. Traven slashed again, catching the throat of a soldier and watching the spray of crimson as it flew through the air.

A wicked grin crossed his face. It waned when another enemy replaced the one that he had killed.

The wounded one stepped forward, this time with the weapon in his other hand as he moved, but Traven maneuvered his footing to the left, dropping one enemy as the hallway's wall blocked him. With only four remaining, Traven lashed out, finishing the wounded combatant with three master strokes that caused the man to collapse. Traven was able to breath in a brief respite as the three shaken enemies regrouped, spreading out to replace their two lost friends, before the final stretch of the battle commenced.

It wasn't much of a competition. They advanced, and Traven could practically feel the anxiety that they were feeling as they did, before the first attacks fell, and his sword moved, seemingly of its own accord, to defend, slapping their blades into each other and glinting in the light of the tunnels. A clang of metal slamming into metal filled his ears, before the slap of sharp edge of flesh replaced it, leaving a deep, bleeding wound on the inside of one of his opponent's thighs. They tried again, and the other leg was similarly crippled. The Mandalorian, now bleeding profusely from his wounds, would collapse in three minutes, and Traven redirected his focus to the two uninjured soldiers, both of them growing frantic and tired. He stopped retreating and pushed forward, blocking their attacks and driving them back, towards a corpse that was strewn haphazardly across the floor. They stepped on the body, like Traven had hoped, and one of them stumbled, only to find himself bleeding from a mortal wound to his throat, and he fell several moments later.

The wounded soldier crumpled to his knees, feeling weak from blood loss.

The only remaining Mandalorian soldier dropped his sword and staggered as he tried to get back, pressing against the side of the tunnel wall as Traven stepped over the bodies he had strewn about lithely, approaching like a tiger stalking prey, his blade dripping crimson. Before the man could even beg, the sword was lodged in his chest, pushed through the breastplate and heart. Traven held it for just a moment, looking into the visor where he knew the other man's eyes to be, before pulling the blade free and watching the soldier collapse to the ground.

Traven felt a wave of fatigue hit him like a tidal wave just before the ground rose up, and he caught himself with a hand against the wall before he could fully collapse, lowering himself carefully next to the dying soldier.

Raisha finished the last of the platoon with his own blade, taking hold of his wrist and twisting the sword out of his grasp before lodging it in his back. When she saw Traven leaning against the wall, coated in blood, her breath caught in her throat, and she rushed to his side, ignoring the fatigue in her limbs as she steadied her commander.

"You're fine," she reassured him, even though she didn't think he was. She pulled her helmet off and tossed it to the side carelessly, focusing entirely on the wounded man in her arms. Traven nodded as she administered the kolto, but he wasn't willing to attempt moving. He just wanted to sleep... "That was pretty impressive. Come on, stay with me, Traven. Look at me, come on!"

Traven's eyes met hers and he shook his head minutely. "Raisha," he said softly, stopping her with a hand on his shoulder. "Help me up."  
She merely pursed her lips.

Traven nodded his head and closed his eyes for the briefest of moments before pushing himself up, staggering slightly as his right leg gave out. Then she was there, catching him before he could fall and pulling him upright, their armor clacking together as she held him up by his armpit, throwing his left arm over her shoulders to help support. Traven was much steadier with her acting as a crutch, and he nodded his head in thanks, dropping the notched vibrosword in his hands in favor of one of the less damaged weapons.

"Let's go," he said tiredly, and Raisha nodded, retrieving the bloodied sack of explosives before returning to his side, a vibrosword in one hand as she held him up. And they began to walk.


	24. Part 2 Chapter 17

A/N: Sorry for the long waits between chapters. I've been busy lately, ad I'm having a hard time deciding how to end part 2. I'll figure it out. Enjoy!

Chapter 23

Dagary Minor, 116 Hours After the Transmission

The fortress loomed over the surrounding jungle with the presence of a god, illuminated by bright patrol lights and armed with bristling cannons that were aimed out from the top of a tall rocky plateau. Kalloway knew that the only way to get inside would be through one of the gun mounts, and Burns wasn't going to be able to climb, not without his left hand. The same thought was in both of their heads as they stared up at the towering durasteel barriers that surrounded their target, watching the small patrols walk along the bottom of the cliff face with assault rifles and tanks. Kalloway had never tried to do anything so stupid in his life, he realized, and he had done a lot of stupid things. With a sigh, he turned to his red-haired friend, the dirt and grime that was streaked across his face giving him a grim look as he nodded his head.

Very softly, like the whisper of a dying man's breath, Burns spoke. "I know," he said, lifting the permacrete explosives and handing them to Kalloway.

Kalloway hadn't cried for a very long time, but for some reason, those two words made a lump form in his throat that he just couldn't swallow. He drew his knife, notched and slightly bent, and handed it to Burns, hilt first. "You wait right here," he said sternly, eyes clouding with unshed tears. "Right here."

Burns took the dagger, but he stayed quiet. After a long eternity, Kalloway turned and started to walk towards the walls of the cliff face, but Burns stopped him. "Good luck...brother."

Burns saw the tear slide down Kalloway's face as he disappeared through the trees. He looked down at the dagger in his hands and closed his eyes.

* * *

Traven hobbled along the long corridor of the labyrinth, wincing with every step as the wound in his back pulsed with fiery indignation. Every step felt like an eternity, his sore muscles begging to be allowed to rest from their exertion, and he shook his head, sliding tot eh ground with his back against the wall and hanging his head. He knew that Raisha was nearby, using her stealth generator, and he knew that he needed to look defeated and worn, something that wasn't going to be much of a problem with his current wounds, so Traven shook his head, allowing the vibrosword to thud into the dirt. Something told him that there was a patrol coming, and he didn't want them to gut him because he was armed.

Sure enough, the sounds of footsteps and hissed commands reached his ears, and he made no move to look up as a group of five Mandalorians in armor rounded the corner and stopped, lifting heir melee weapons and looking at each other. They approached slowly, and one of them quickly stepped forward, kicking the fallen vibrosword out of his reach and taking hold of his chest plate. Traven weakly wrapped both hands around the arm as he was hauled to his feet. "Not so strong now, hm?" the soldier spat, his voice slightly synthesized because of the helmet. Traven feigned weakness, unable to do much more than groan. "Where's your friend?"

Traven shook his head, eyes rolling in desperation as his hands squeezed the vambrace of the soldier. "Separated..." he croaked past the dryness in his throat, and the soldier tossed him to the side in disgust.

"Get him up, the general will want to ask him a few questions before we kill him," the Mandalorian patrol leader said, and two of the soldiers sheathed their weapons, taking Traven under his arms and starting to drag him down the corridor. Traven hung his head to hide the small triumphant smirk that appeared on his lips. The patrol didn't even suspect that his partner was standing not ten yards away in stealth, ready to jump in and save him if it looked like his life was threatened.

Traven and Raisha had avoided combat for nine hours after his injury, but they knew that they couldn't do so forever, and they also knew that without the visors telling them where to go, they would be lost in the labyrinth ad left to die of thirst. So Traven had come up with a plan to get them inside the base, and it seemed to be working thus far. "You're quite the pain in the ass," the leader of the patrol said to Traven as they started to walk. "Never seen anyone fight so many and still win."

Traven didn't reply to the man, but t made him feel a little safer knowing that he was, at least, respected, if not feared. "Did you see the security footage of the last patrol that encountered this one, boss?"

"Aye," the leader responded, looking over his shoulder at the underling who had spoken. The leader of the group was walking beside the two soldiers that were carrying Traven, his distinctive red armor in contrast with the light blues of the rest of the patrol. "I saw it."

Traven wondered how the Mandalorians ever won a battle, if they fell prostrate and worshiped any warrior who bested them. He stayed silent, though, keeping up his facade of weakness. They weren't far from the end of the maze, and if Raisha got into the Mandalorian fortress with the bag of remaining permacrete explosives, the mission was all but finished. As he was dragged through the dirt, however, Traven's vision began to swim, and he wondered if he would even survive long enough for them to reach the blast doors.

"He's bleeding pretty bad," one of his carriers noticed. "What happens if he dies before the general gets a look at him?"

The Mandalorian in red sighed and tossed a small white and red package to one of his squadmates. "Give him that. Didn't cost more than ten credits, anyway."

The soldier nodded, and soon Traven felt the sting of a syringe in his neck and the rush of cheap, diluted kolto and painkillers rushing through his bloodstream. It wasn't anything like the stuff that he was accustomed to, but it would cause his wounds to stop bleeding and it took the edge off of the debilitating pain. The painkillers, however, would have the side effect of slowing his reaction time and making his thoughts fuzzier, which was as good of a restraint as shackles. As the drugs kicked in, Traven lost track of time, the dirt floors all looking the same to him as he was carried out of the maze. He almost didn't notice when they stopped at the blast doors, the huge, two feet thick durasteel doors sliding open to reveal the white hallways of the Mandalorian stronghold. The bright florescent lights nearly blinded him as he was taken through the threshold, and he moaned in indignation, closing his eyes against the brightness.

Traven was supposed to remember how to get back to the labyrinth, but he forgot under the haze of painkillers and kolto, suddenly being thrown unceremoniously into a cell that fizzled to life almost immediately. Once he hit the ground, Traven didn't move, the cold metal flooring feeling strangely reassuring against his cheek. At least it told him that he was still alive.

* * *

Raisha saw her commander be thrown into his cell and made a mental note of its location, sending him one last look before slipping off down another corridor. Whatever drugs they had given him had stopped his bleeding, but she had a feeling that he hadn't remembered how to get to his cell from the labyrinth exit. Hopefully, they wouldn't need to go that way. As Raisha walked, making sure to stay close to the walls, she noticed the bustling patrols of soldiers and engineers, all of them talking in hushed tones as they ran through the halls. It was the conversations of men that were preparing for war, and it made Raisha wonder if the Republic really knew what they were getting into with this battle. It would probably be a good idea to warn the incoming fleet that they were expected, and Raisha made a mental note to find a way to do that.

The Mandalorian stronghold was larger than it looked from fifty kilometers away, and now that Raisha was actually walking through its halls, she could feel a sense of foreboding in the halls, but she couldn't understand why. When she ascended a level and started to walk through the command rooms of the base, she realized immediately that things were worse than they had originally assumed.

The Mandalorians were arming nuclear warheads.

Memories of Serroco rushed back to her as she paused in front of a console, eyes locked onto the huge missile that was set snugly in the silo of the fortress, steam jetting out of the sides as it was prepped for launch. Mandalorians were running along the catwalks all around it, placing last-minute adjustments to its thrusters, and for a moment Raisha was in awe of the size of the warhead. Then, it hit her that they wouldn't need to place all of the permacrete detonators. They only needed to place one.

Very quickly, Raisha slipped out of stealth and downloaded the fortresses schematics to a small datapad, her imagination conjuring up an image of a massive nuclear blast.

* * *

Burns watched from his hiding place as Kalloway, nothing but a mere speck of a shadow climbed, already twenty feet up the rock face. Burns didn't know if his friend was aware that a Mandalorian patrol was heading his way, and it didn't really matter, since there was no way for Kalloway to hide himself while he was clinging to the rock face, but Burns knew that if Kalloway was discovered, then their mission would be a failure. He also knew that if _he _was discovered, then he would die.

With this in mind, Burns stood and started to run towards the lights of the patrol, his tired muscles protesting only briefly before the adrenaline blocked out the pain. He was there in less than a minute, the patrol only several more steps from rounding the corner of the cliff and spotting the shadow that was climbing up the face with the moon as a backdrop. Before they could do anything, however, a figure jumped into their midst, a small, bent dagger flashing into the throat of the nearest soldier, the cry of surprise cutting short was cortosis-weave severed his vocal cords. As the man fell, Burns pulled the blaster from his arms and spun, firing the heavy rifle with one hand. The other soldiers in the patrol ducked to avoid the lances of energy coming from his gun, and Burns ran forward, driving the bayonet of the rifle into the chest of the soldier in red, sing his body to shield him before disappearing into the trees. The shouts of his pursuers reached him and he smiled.

His triumph was short lived as another patrol burst from the foliage, already firing their blasters at the approaching SIS agent, and Burns swore, turning on a dime and taking off in the wrong direction. Soon, the trees parted to reveal a spread out complex with large, spherical tanks spread haphazardly about, massive basilisk war droids tied to them as fuel was exchanged. There was practically an entire army standing I the fuel station, and Burns knew that there was nothing for it but to start firing. His gun blazed to life as his legs took him up the ramp onto the catwalk, knocking a soldier over the rail and bounding past another. Their confused retorts whizzed harmlessly past, but the element of surprise would only last for a short while.

Burns took cover behind a fuel tank and took down an approaching soldier, a storm of fire driving him back behind the metal sphere. He heard the shouts in mando'a, the blasters screams as their fire rushed forth, showering the ground all around him with energy. Burns spun out of cover and took down three of them before his leg was hit, a lance of pain drawing a yelp from him as he crawled back behind cover. They were coming, every blaster shot seeming to grow louder and louder. Burns closed his eyes and dug his rifle up, underneath the fuel cell.

He pulled the trigger, the blast tearing into the metal of the volatile containment sphere, but not puncturing through. Burns hesitated slightly, knowing that the next shot would cause an explosion large enough to be considered nuclear in its own right. He closed his eyes.

"Sorry, Kal," he muttered, finger tightening once again.

A Mandalorian soldier rounded the side of the sphere just as Burns punched a hole in the containment cell, a small, grim smile parting his lips as the flames shot out, splitting the thick durasteel and creating a bright orange sun on the ground of the fuel depot. Burns was thrown back, into the beams supporting the catwalk, and he stared, dazed, at the huge ball that was rising up into the air, only to explode in a brilliant flash of yellow. When the fire hit him, engulfing him in total agony for the briefest of seconds, he closed his eye in peace.

The first blast was big, but there were twenty fuel cells in the depot, each one catching only moments after the first shook the very ground, and as nineteen huge balls of flame jumped up into the sky, the shouts of the dying was drowned out of the wrath of the explosion. The cliff face shook, rocks pulling free and plummeting to the ground, and trees were blown out of the ground for hundreds of meters in every direction, the torrent of flames turned them to ash almost instantly. When the explosions stopped, there was nothing left but charred corpses and twisted metal.

Kalloway almost lost his hold on the cliff when the explosion rocked through him, the bright light filling the sky as if the sun had risen unexpectedly, and for a moment, he was confused. Then, his mind caught up to him and he realized that it had to have been Burns, and if it was Burns, then the man was almost certainly dead. The thought was slow to form in Kalloway's mind, but when it did, the tears that had stung hm earlier returned tenfold. Shaking his head, Kalloway continued to climb the rock face, cursing Burns and his altruism the rest of the way up. When he was perched atop the cliff face, looking down over the jungle, he saw the flames that were spreading out from the site of the explosion like a tidal wave, spreading from tree to tree with voracious hunger, and he slumped to the ground for a moment, staring at the bright orange light in awe.

He didn't know how long he sat, watching the fires burn through the jungle below, but when he finally stood up and put his hand on the durasteel walls of the fortress, he felt nothing but numbness.


	25. Part 2 Chapter 18

A/N: Sadness. :( This was painful to write.

Chapter 24

Dagary Minor, 120 Hours After the Transmission

The first strike hit like a sledgehammer, smacking Kalloway's invisible form in the chest. His stealth field flickered and failed as he staggered back, the crack in his breastplate pressing uncomfortably against his sternum. The bag of explosives clattered across the hallway, and the soldier that had attacked at him walked casually around the corner, armored in thick red Mandalorian armor. He had obviously seen Kalloway because of his visor, and decided to deal with the intruder alone instead of calling for backup, a very typical Mandalorian action. The warrior grunted as if in disappointment, an imagined smirk on his face, and drew his sword back to swing down at his fallen opponent, but Kalloway saw the slice coming, kicking his heel up to knock the attack off course. The blade scraped against the ground several inches away from his head, and he rolled to the side, standing to bring his hands up in a Mandalorian stance. The man changed his attack direction and thrust forward, intending to impale Kalloway on the tip of his vibrosword, but the Twi'Lek was faster, slapping the flat of the blade and taking hold of the Mandalorian's arm. The larger soldier butted helms with the SIS agent, stunning him and causing his grip to loosen, releasing on of his hands. The armored fist of the Mandalorian slammed into Kalloway's glass visor and cracked the glass, forcing Kalloway to retreat and pull his helmet off angrily.

There was little chance that I'm can win this fight, he realized. The advantage of the vibrosword was that it had much longer reach than Kalloway's arms, and he could dodge and parry as long as he wanted, but an attack was bound to get through eventually, and when it did, the fight would be over. The Mandalorian, switching his grip to a more close-quarters style, stepped forward and slashed diagonally from the right, forcing Kalloway to lean back to avoid being cut. The kick that followed was well-aimed and strong, striking the side of Kalloway's unarmored head with the shin guard and throwing him against the wall of the corridor. Kalloway hadn't fought many people that were more skilled than he was at fighting, but this Mandalorian had hit him with the advantage of surprise, and with an actual weapon. With his vision dancing in spots, Kalloway reached to his belt and took hold of the trigger for his explosives, tilting his head to watch the glinting sword as it stabbed down to punch through his back.

With a grimace, he pulled the trigger.

The whole building shook with the force of the permacrete explosives, the base reactor falling into critical state as the explosions tore through the shielding around the fusion chamber, and Kalloway only had a moment to relish the completion of his mission before the vibrosword punched through his back and chest, forcing him to his knees as the curved tip clanked against the ground, a cruel laugh of victory ringing in his ears. The pain was only momentary as his punctured heart struggled to keep his blood flowing, and Kalloway sighed as the world darkened around him. The only satisfaction he had was the explosion of the walls around him as the reactor overloaded the circuitry and shook the foundations of the stronghold. He died before he could witness the base blast apart with the force of a nuclear cascade.

* * *

Dagary Minor, Five Days Later (120 hours)

If Sasha could describe Meetra Surik in a word, it would be 'poised.' The young Jedi, who had been just barely a knight before she left the Order with Revan, was more comfortable at the observation deck of the _Invulnerable _than anyone that Sasha had ever seen, surpassed, perhaps, by the Revanchist himself. She was a tall woman, with straight, confident posture and long, heavy brown hair that was tied in a half-bun, keeping it away from her calculating eyes as her gaze scanned across the battle that was raging in the space around them. The Republic had arrived on time, and they had been met with a defense fleet larger than the information that they had been given implied, leading to a conflict that was bloodier and more of a stalemate than Meetra would have liked, as the slight furrow of her brow indicated, but Sasha could sense that the younger woman still held out hope that they could overcome their enemies.

The largest factor in their apparent success was that there had been no support from the planetary guns. Sasha knew that it meant Traven and his team had succeeded in the mission that he had been assigned, but what worried her was that they wouldn't have the ground forces necessary to complete an extraction.

Meetra winced as one of her more ignorant commanders maneuvered his fleet into a trap, the Mandalorian Vexator class interdictors losing in around them and tearing at the lightly armored Hammerhead cruisers. "Drop and fall back towards Gamma Fleet," she ordered calmly, turning her eyes to the other side of the planet, where her fleet was routing the remaining Mandalorian vessels away from orbit. Alpha Fleet, the closest group of ships that had been fighting over the western hemisphere, turned to assist in the east, causing a smile to spread across Meetra's face.

The fleet moved in accord with their general's orders, and the Mandalorians lost more ground. It was like an intricate dance of push and pull, each movement of ships shifting the focus of the battle just slightly enough to allow the Mandalorians to relieve the pressure that was building up on their strained defenses. One of their fleets slipped between Delta and Alpha, cutting towards the _Invulnerable, _but the huge flagship had no problems dealing with the three cruisers, losing only ten percent of their shielding from their broadsides. Sasha watched one of their Hammerheads go up in bluish flames and winced as the echoes of death rolled through the Force.

It was then that Meetra turned to her. "We can begin landing soldiers," she said. "Do you want to help lead the ground forces?"

"I'd prefer to simply help," Sasha said. "I don't know much about leadership."

"Saul is an adequate ground forces general. He should be adequate for this," Meetra said. "You should join the shuttles in the hangar, then."

"What news of the SIS team?" Sasha asked, trying not to sound anxious. The younger Jedi saw through it immediately, however, and frowned sadly.

"Their helmets are all dark," she said. "They probably took them off to conceal their location."

Sasha's heart clenched painfully, and she reached out for the bond that she had formed inadvertently with Traven, finding it still intact and strong. "Traven, at least, is alive," she said, and Meetra nodded, turning her gaze to the jungle planet below.

"The scans show that two nuclear blasts occurred on the surface within the past week," she said, turning her gaze to the retreating Mandalorian fleet. "I assume that the SIS are responsible. They could have told us about the battle fleet waiting for us; we lost almost twice as much as Revan had anticipated."

Sasha nodded. The faulty information was one of the main reasons for her sense of dread, since it meant that the information Traven's team was using to accomplish their mission might also be faulty. As the two large carriers that held the majority of the ground troops began to descend, she felt her bond with Traven flutter to life, filling her with a sense of dire urgency. She shook her head and turned to the turbolifts

The Republic carriers broke through the sparse cloud cover like large metal beetles, and Traven followed them with his eyes until they disappeared over the tops of the trees. The wind picked up and pushed the branches, the soft hissing filling the otherwise oppressive silence, and Raisha looked at him with relief in her eyes. Neither of them wore any armor, nor did they had a weapon between them, and Traven's wounds were still paining him, even after five days. After Raisha planted her explosives on the nuclear munitions, she had freed Traven and they had escaped into the underground labyrinth as the permacrete explosives detonated, leveling the entire fortress and everything for several kilometers in every direction. It had taken three days to get out of the tunnels after that, since the explosion collapsed several of the main passages, and they had run out of food two days ago. Hungry, tired, and thirsty, both of them were eager to find their way to the Republic lines and receive medical attention.

"They put down about two kilometers away, I think," Raisha said, looking into the trees. Traven nodded with detachment, the anxiety that had been continually hounding him since their escape returning with more intensity than before.

"We never got back to the rendezvous," Traven said. "What if Burns and Kalloway are already there?"

"Then the Republic will find them. They're fine, we need to get to friendly territory before the fighting starts in earnest," Raisha said.

Both of them heard the distant thunder of artillery shells and the loud reports of firing armor divisions. She was right, Traven knew, and he started walking in the direction that the shuttle had landed. The Republic, as it happened, was having a harder time keeping their landing zone than they had predicted, as Mandalorian basilisk war droids plowed out of the jungle from the east, driving the Republic's forces across an open plain to the bulwarks of their landing site. The Republic's own armor divisions consisted of several tanks and a group of anti-armor infantry armed with supersonic rockets and tracking missiles, but their main advantage was the precision bombardment from low orbit. The Hammerhead cruisers ten thousand feet in the sky were raining turbolaser fire on the Mandalorian lines, razing jungle and shattering the advancing war droids. It wasn't enough to stop the assault, however, and when Traven and Raisha broke the cover of the jungle into the plain, they were confronted with a brutal battleground.

Luckily, there was a squad of Republic soldiers that was advancing along the defensive lines nearby, and they spotted Traven and Raisha. Their rifles snapped up and Traven could almost se th finger tightening on the trigger as his hands flew up in surrender, and only when the soldier recognized the lack of weapons did his finger relax, but only slightly

"Who are you?" one of the soldiers asked quickly, ducking his head behind the tall durasteel wall and looking around warily. His rifle never wavered from its target on Traven's chest.

"Commander Traven S1, SIS," Traven replied. The soldier's eyes widened and he grinned.

"We thought you were dead," he said, before quickly gesturing for Traven to duck. "Get down here, there's snipers in the jungle."

Traven and Raisha both knelt behind the barrier, the other squad members casting them curious looks as they fired their guns across the plains. A mortar shell hit the ground nearby, and Traven's ears rang for almost a whole minute before he could speak.

"Were the other planet-to-orbit defense cannons eliminated?" Traven asked over the din of battle.

The soldier nodded his head, then gestured for Traven to follow him. "I'll take you back to the shuttles and we can get you out of here, sir! Come on guys, let's get the Commander out of here."

"Yes, sir!" the others shouted.

Traven nodded, and when he stood, he and Riaha were quickly surrounded by the four squadmates, their guns swiveling as they ran quickly throught eh vicious crossfire, towards the second line of defense. Another stray mortar shot from the Republic lines hit the ground twenty meters away, throwing dirt into the air and causing Traven to duck his head, but he was used to loud explosions by now, and soon they were behind the artificial barricades of the Republic lines. Just before they reached the second line of durasteel bulwarks, a blaster shot whizzed over Traven's shoulder and seared into the back of the soldier's head, eliciting loud curses from his friends as blood poured out from the large hole. He slumped tot eh ground, and the other squadmates pulled Traven behind cover, leaving the body where it was. They were lucky that they did, too, because three more shots splashed against the barricade, leaving large scorch marks.

"Dammit," one of the men muttered, shaking his head. "Alright guys, let's get the VIPs to the command shuttle."

A pause. Traven knew that they were all mourning the death of their friend, but sorrow had no place on the battlefield. "Yes, sir."

Two of the soldiers stopped at the boarding ramp and the last, presumably the highest rank, led Traven and Raisha into the shuttle where a lanky man with grim features and tired eyes was leaning over a holo-image of the battle, commanding the forces and aiming the orbital bombardments. As Traven and Raisha approached, escorted by the squad of Republic soldiers, the man looked up and grinned.

"I'm assuming you're SIS?" he asked, holding his hand out. Traven shook it firmly.

"Traven S1," he said.

When the man looked to Raisha, she smiled. "Raisha S17."

"Admiral Saul Karath," the man said, giving a small, formal bow. He became serious immediately afterward. "We're having a hard time holding out, but the other landing site is three kilometers out. I'll get you back to the _Invulnerable _via shuttle-craft, but you'll have to wait for the next group of wounded soldiers. That Jedi can only do so much, and there's more dead and dying than she can heal."

"Jedi?" Traven asked suddenly. "Do you mean Knight Sasha?"

"Aye," Saul said. "She came to help our lines as a field medic. She's the only reason we're still holding out, truthfully. The men are bolstered by a Jedi's presence, and her lightsaber tends to keep the Mandalorians away from that area. Revan wasn't expecting this many enemies, so he didn't send any other Jedi with the fleet besides the General. If you have more questions, feel free to ask Sergeant Jeans here, he'll escort you tot he medical shuttles."

The soldier that had found them saluted the admiral and grinned at Traven and Raisha. "If you'll follow me, Commander," he said, and started to walk. Traven decided to remain quiet as he was taken along the back lines of the Republic defenses, watching the frontier get hammered by artillery and armor fire from the Basilisks and hidden mortars in the jungle. There were snipers int eh trees, picking off any Republic soldier that stuck his head from cover, and the Republic snipers didn't seem to be keeping up, either. The constant rain of turbolaser fire had sparked a forest fire, however, and it was raging all around the outside of the plains, forcing the Mandalorians out into the open. It looked poetic, the flames burning as black smoke billowed up into the sky, soldiers piling out of the protective shadows, into the hell that was raining down from orbit. Traven winced as a lucky mortar shot punched a hole in the Republic lines, and the Mandalorians immediately started to rush forward, extending bayonets and drawing vibroswords in anticipation of the slaughter. The Republic soldiers were much weaker in melee, and if the Mandalorians were able to mount a charge,t hen the position was lost. Then, the ignition of a lightsaber and the flowing robes of a Jedi caught Traven's vision, yellow energy cackling from the figure's hands and lancing out to strike like a snake, taking enemies down by the tens. Rocks and other small projectiles flew forward, pelting the incoming attackers in a hail of swirling debris, punching through visors and piercing eyes.

Traven stopped to watch as Sasha held the position for nearly a whole minute, driving the Mandalorians back with the ferocity of her Force power, before the Republic closed the weakness and she fell back, disappearing within the ranks once more to avoid being a target for snipers.

"She's saved our asses more times than I can count," Sergeant Jeans said, shaking his head. "Can you imagine what ten Jedi like her could do to change the course of a battle? I'm just glad they're on our side."

"Indeed," Traven said, turning and continuing to follow the soldier towards the medical shuttles.

When they reached the shuttle, Traven turned to Jeans. "I'm sorry abut you're friend," he said. The soldier merely nodded and walked away.

Raisha and Traven had never been inside the medical shuttles of a battlefield before, and as they stepped up the ramp, the only word that Traven could think of to describe it was 'hell.' The wails of the dying filled the air like a chorus of banshees, panicked shouts of the medics cutting through like the staccato taps of drums. Traven was shocked still for a moment as he looked around, the pristine white surfaces of the shuttle marred by the blood of the wounded, spotting the ground and running down the side of the most wounded soldiers' beds. Raisha looked a little green as they took a seat int eh corner, trying not to get in the way of anything, and Traven was only able to remain seated for a moment before he was up and moving, finding himself at the bedside of a soldier that had taken the blast of a Mandalorian shrapnel mine, tearing his legs apart from the hip down. It looked like the soldier had polka-dots on his legs, but instead of a simple splotch of color, it was a puncture wound, and Traven knew, from seeing it happen on the ramps of Taris, that he would die if the medics didn't amputate both legs and cauterize. He would be given prosthetic legs later, but right now, it was top priority to stop the bleeding in his legs. The soldier, besides being covered in dirt and blood, was otherwise uninjured, but he was slightly delirious from shock, and writhing in pain on the bunk. When he noticed Traven at his side, his eyes dilated slightly and he blinked.

"Who...Who're you?"

Traven didn't have time to answer as a medic rushed to the bed, carrying a machine that was designed for the purpose of amputating limbs. He slammed it onto the bed and lifted the wounded leg, ignoring the yelp of pain as he fitted it into the machine. He looked up, spotting Traven, and pointed at the soldier's chest. "Hold him."

Traven, acting instinctively, reached an arm across the man's chest, causing him to grip at the strong forearm in panic. "What is...Wait! You can't..." nothing intelligible came from his mouth after that, his muscles tensing and his back lifting up off of the bed as the lasers int eh machine cut through skin, muscle, and bone with medical precision, burning the wound shut. After a brief choking sound, a scream tore from him that chilled Traven to the bone, and his eyes snapped open, flicking frantically around the room as he searched for a way to stop the pain. After a brief moment, it was over, and the medic was moving to the other leg.

"Can't you give him something?" Traven asked, appalled, but the medic brushed him aside.

"He'll die if you don't hold him down, sir," he said. Traven quickly stepped around the bed and made sure that the wounded man couldn't reach the machine at his hip. Gritting his teeth, Traven shook his head.

"I'm sorry."

The soldier looked at him, panic written on his face, but the expression was lost as the machine started humming again, and the process was repeated. Traven's hand brushed the amputated leg that was lying on the side of the bed, and he felt blood trickle down his through from where it was pressed against the rail holding the soldier on the operating table. When the machine was done, both legs ere removed, and Traven slumped into a chair, the medic stopping and putting a hand on his shoulder.

"You saved his life," he said, trying to comfort the stricken commander. He was called away by another injury before he could reply.

Traven had killed people before, painfully. He had shot limbs off with a blaster and placed mines that would tear their bodies apart in seconds, but never had he seen such a blatant display of agony before the moment when the soldier's leg was being cut from his body. The man, drenched in his own sweat, was tossing on the bunk, groaning in pain as the burns on his legs throbbed. Why was it so different now then when he was on the battlefield? Why was it that this man's pain resonated so deeply with him, when the pain of his enemies brought adrenaline and euphoria? For a moment, Traven felt like throwing up, but he resisted that urge and stood, only to stop when the soldier grabbed his arm.

"I'll...I'll get my legs back, right? Right?" he asked, voice rising in distress. He couldn't have been much older than Traven. Realizing that the man thought him a medic, he returned to his side.

"You will. And they'll be stronger than before," he said, in the gentlest voice that he had used in a very long time. It was the same voice, he realized, that he had used with his little sister, all those years ago. "You're going to be fine."  
"You promise? I can't...I can't live without my legs...I couldn't..." the soldier said, the mere thought causing his breathing to increase.

"Hey," Traven said, catching the man's attention. "Don't think about it right now. You'll be fine."

The soldier nodded, face scrunching up as the pain intensified. "You got a family?" Traven asked suddenly, hoping to distract the man.

"A wife," he said, suddenly breathless. "On Coruscant."

Traven nodded, searching the man for injury, but he couldn't see any blood against the red of the man's uniform. "Tell me about her."

"She's...she's tall, with blonde hair and blue eyes. The most beautiful blue eyes...Hey, my chest..." the soldier's eyes widened and he tensed, hands clamping onto the bars of the rails holding him. The medic looked over and swore explosively, but before he could rush over, the soldier convulsed once, coughing a mouthful blood onto the bed beside his head and falling limp. His eyes became unfocused and his head slid to the side, two lifeless orbs that stared at Traven.

"Life support at table five!" the medic shouted, rushing over and tearing the uniform off the soldier's chest. There, looking innocent against the side of the man's body, was a small shrapnel wound, less than a centimeter in diameter, with a small line of blood running down his side. Traven, feeling helpless, could only watch as the medic attempted in vain to bring the man back to the world of the living.

Back to his beautiful wife on Coruscant.

When the medic finally shook his head and stepped away, throwing a white sheet over the body, Traven found that his cheeks were wet with tears.


	26. Part 2 Chapter 19

Chapter 25

Sasha found Traven, sitting at his desk with a listless look on his face, an open box of medical supplies forgotten on the durasteel surface, immediately after the fighting on the planet's surface had drawn to a close. She was walking with a slight limp, robes ragged and dirty from her exertions on the surface, and her hands had blood on them from the soldiers that she had healed on the frontier; her vibrant red hair was matted to her face with sweat and her pale, creamy skin marred by dust and gore. Traven noticed her limp and stood, eyes focusing on her face in the dim lights of his quarters, and she smiled slightly, a small half-smile that filled Traven's heart with warmth. Her eyes saw every one of his injuries, and the smile gave way to a frown of worry when she saw the slightly fresher blood on his side.

"Not mine," Traven said softly, the memories of the soldier that had died in the shuttle rushing back to him.

"You did it," Sasha said instead of asking for an explanation, putting a hand on his chest to ease him onto the bunk and reaching for the medical supplies. There were small cuts all across his body, but the wound that she was focusing on was the stab in his back. She could feel the ache through their bond, and knew it was painful for him.

Traven didn't answer immediately, allowing her to work his shirt off and turn him over, revealing the large, wrinkled hole in his back, slightly black around the edges and stinking of infection. "The base is gone," he said.

Sasha applied kolto and antiseptics to the wound and bandaged it by wrapping cloth around his midsection, before dipping two fingers into the cool kolto and beginning to trace the smaller cuts along his shoulders. Traven sat in silence and let her work, eyes closing as goosebumps spread across his skin from the cool, feather-light touch. When her hands reached the gashes on his chest, he stopped her, holding both wrists in his hands and spotting the nature of her own wounds through the shroud of her dirtied robes.

"You didn't get that checked, did you?" he asked her, watching her eyes.

Sasha shook her head, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "A blaster shot got through my defenses and hit me in the leg, but I didn't think that..."

She stopped when Traven pushed her thick cloak from her shoulders and slid to the ground, kneeling beside her leg and pushing the fabric of her robes up her thigh to see the wound that laid just above the knee. His hands ghosting across her inner thigh made her jump, but he didn't seem to notice, dressing the blaster wound with gentle caresses and expert movements, and when it was done, Sasha was thinking more about the warmth of his hands on her leg than about the wound itself. "You came directly here," Traven told her as he stood, more of a statement than a question and Sasha pushed her robes back across her thighs reflexively.

"I was worried you hadn't gone to the med center," she said, smirking suddenly. "I can see that I was right."

Traven's eyes clouded for a moment with an emotion that flowed through their bond like slick oil. Sadness and regret. "There are those that need the med center much more than I," Traven said eventually, and Sasha saw that he didn't want to talk about it.

"Saul thinks that the planet will be ours in a month," Sasha said, deciding that a neutral topic would be best. "We're still looking for the other members of your team."

Traven nodded his head. "I am going down to help on the front lines tomorrow," he said, and Sasha shook her head immediately.

"No you're not," she said, her unique commanding tone returning to her voice as her hand gripped his shoulder, and for a moment, their eyes clashed in a battle of wills, but Traven relented after a moment. "You're resting tomorrow. There will be plenty of battles for you to fight in the future."

Traven nodded his head and slid closer to her by several inches, looking like the uncertain young man that he was. Sasha yawned and made a show of being tired for his benefit. "The fighting was harsh today."

She welcomed the arm that slid around her shoulders, pulling her into his warmth. She let her head fall against his shoulder, her dirt hair splaying across his chest. "You fought well," Traven said, stroking circles on her shoulder. "You should sleep."

"I'm filthy," Sasha protested, but it was a weak argument. Traven chuckled and let them both fall back, onto the bunk.

"So am I," Traven pointed out, "so I don't think there's anything to worry about."

Sasha only had to think about her decision for a moment before snuggling closer to him and closing her eyes, the worries of war and the mantras of the Jedi falling silent as she slept. Traven watched her for a while, before cradling her against his chest gently and letting himself doze off as well.

* * *

Three weeks and two days passed before Dagary Minor was theirs, and Traven was sitting in his quarters, staring down at the reports from the battle and shaking his head as the statistics flowed past. Three hundred thousand men had died taking the planet, and that was only Republic casualties. The Mandalorians had probably suffered a hundred thousand, at least, but that didn't make it any less of a bitter pill to swallow. A third of the forces that had been deployed had been killed, and included in those numbers were two men that Traven had fought with and yet barely known.

Kalloway and Burns.

If there was one thing that he regretted about the war, it was that he allowed the two soldiers, barely into adulthood, to take onto their shoulders the responsibility of so much death. He forgot, sometimes, that he was only twenty, and that the other SIS agents were younger than he, in most cases. Some of them may have been enhanced with drugs and robotics, but that didn't make them any less of a child when it came to the matters of death and its consequences. Svy had tenets about children in warfare, and Traven couldn't help but feel guilty about their deaths. He was the one, after all, that taught them to sacrifice their own safety for the mission. Traven shook his head and stared up at the ceiling of his quarters, thinking back on all of the conversations that he had undertaken with the two, and he found himself at a loss. Not once had he opened up to them, spoken to them as a friend and not a commander, and now they were dead, and he would never get the chance to do so again. All because he had sent them on a mission that they had no chance of completing alive. But this was war, and people die in war.

Traven remembered the soldier in the medical shuttle, dying with the image of his wife in his mind. At least, Traven thought, the man had been thinking about something beautiful when it ended.

The doors to his quarters opened, and Sasha walked in, carrying two metal cups of water in her hands and stopping when she saw his tired features. He had remained uninjured throughout the remainder of the battles on Dagary Minor, but Sasha had not, and he had taken the liberty of patching her wounds in return for her care of his own. He felt her curiosity in his mind and stood, taking the glass of water from her hand and swallowing it in one gulp.

"Thank you," he said, motioning for her to sit down.

Sasha nodded and smiled, sipping at her own water as she sat on his bunk. "We won."

"We did," Traven said, gesturing vaguely tot he datapad. "At the cost of a third of a million men and three weeks."  
It scared Traven to think that he didn't know which statistic was worse. Those three weeks were being used by Mandalore to prepare the defenses in his other systems, Traven knew, and the next battles wouldn't be so easy. Sasha tried to lighten the mood, "Without you're team, those casualties would have been much higher."

Traven acknowledged that with a small half-smile. It was always so easy to smile in Sasha's presence. "Indeed," he said, falling back into his despondence. "And now two of them are dead. Because I failed."

"It wasn't your fault that you got bad intel," Sasha reminded him for perhaps the fifth time.

This time, however, Traven shook his head. "I taught them how to operate in the SIS, to risk their lives in pursuit of the main objective, and because of that, they are dead."

Sasha was quiet for a long time, before she sighed. "You have such strength, Traven," she whispered. "Why must it always be spent with regrets?"

"What do I have but regrets?" Traven asked derisively. "Do you need a summary of my regrets?"

Sasha shrugged, and Traven fell silent, feeling her growing irritation through their bonds. "The past is past," she said. "Jedi learn to live with their mistakes. Perhaps you should do the same."  
"You would make me a Jedi?" Traven asked, laughing. When Sasha's eyes focused sharply on him, he sighed. "You were serious?"

"I was," Sasha said. "Leaving your potential untapped could destroy you."

Traven was quiet for a long time. "I don't want to hurt you," he finally said, very softly. "As I seem to hurt everyone else. I am a broken man."

"Then let me make you whole," Sasha said, suddenly standing. Traven watched her for a long while, his silver eyes scanning her green ones, before he finally sighed.

"I will learn whatever you have to teach me."

* * *

Revan sat in his quarters aboard the mothership of the Republic fleet, reading over the reports of the Mandalorian fleets with a furrowed brow. His mask was sitting on the table beside him, no longer covering his tired features and determined eyes, and his white robes were slung over the side of his chair, forgotten as he perused the data. The Force was telling him that something was wrong, that he was missing something vitally important, but he was unable to tell what that was. The feeling had started yesterday, as he was reviewing his plans to win the war with the Mass Shadow Generator, and he had been locked in his room ever since, reading over every battle report and trying to figure out the answer to several very important questions.

The first of these, and perhaps the most troubling, was the source of the Mandalorian's military might. They were a warrior culture, but they had never created a large Empire before, and they lacked the economy to sustain the battles that they were fighting, and yet they were still managing to keep up with the Republic's supposedly superior military forces and industrial strength. Unless the Mandalorians were receiving support form another player, then it seemed plausible that the Republic could win simply by defending their lines until the Mandalorian's could no longer sustain the cost of a war, but Revan felt through the Force that allowing the war to drag on would be a grave mistake. That was why he was willing to use the Mass Shadow Generator, to sacrifice a third of the Republic armada for the sake of victory. Because the Force was whispering it in his ear, telling him that it was the only way that the Jedi and the Republic would stand, just as it had whispered to him a year and a half ago, when he made his decision to go to Cathar.

The second troubling question was the matter of the SIS. The agency itself looked to be legitimate, but from the agents that Revan had spoken to, it was a much more clandestine, sinister group than they would have liked people to believe. The most significant thing about them was that they all had the ability to shield their minds from inspection by Force users, something that a very small percentage of people knew how to do, and an even smaller percentage actually found useful. Unless another Jedi Knight had fallen, then there were no Dark Side Force users roaming around the galaxy, which meant that the SIS was hoping to hide something from the Jedi, but Revan wasn't able to find out what that was. In all of his conversations with SIS agents, they never once revealed anything about their leader or their training. Having such skilled troops was an advantage, but the fact that Revan couldn't discover their origin was troubling.

The third and final question was the tremors that Revan had been feeling in the Force. They were related to the Mandalorians, but Revan could tell that it was not a direct relationship, and that the tremors were coming from someone that was unaware of his importance. There was something important happening in the galaxy,something that could potentially shape the future of the Republic, and Revan had no idea what it was, and that, above all else, bothered him greatly. The possibility that a Jedi was falling to the dark side had nagged at Revan for days now, but he didn't think that such a thing would be the source of the tremors, as the darkness tended to hid its movements, not flaunt them.

If the Mandalorians were receiving outside help, and the SIS were as shady as Revan suspected, then the disturbance might prove to be insignificant, but until a time when Revan was certain, he was going to make sure that he remained in constant vigilance. He would be departing to command the fleets at Taris soon, and Meetra was taking a large portion of the armada to Dxun, the main base of operations for the Mandalorian command. If they won there, then it was only a matter of time until the rest of the Mandalorian's brief empire followed. Standing slowly, Revan shouldered his white robes and slid the metallic mask back over his face, breathing deeply through his nose and stepping out into the halls for the first time in three days. He had a war to fight, and the musings of a man that was too attuned to the Living Force had no place in the matters of warfare.


	27. Part 2 Chapter 20

Chapter 26

Traven walked back to his quarters after a long shift on the bridge, once again returning to his duties as an adviser for the captain and Sasha. The Jedi Meetra Surik was still on board, but she hadn't left her quarters since Dagary Minor. The fleet was en route to Taris now, two weeks away from the next battle, and the crew was already preparing for perhaps the bloodiest fighting of the war. Traven was worried that they wouldn't win at Taris, since the fleet was already weakened from the assault on Dagary Minor, and the Mandalorians had been using the time to prepare formidable defenses on the surface, but it was Revan's decision, and they were meeting up with another strike force in a nearby system before making the assault.

Sasha had promised to train him to use his potential strength in the Force today, and she approached him in front of the turbolift with a small smile on her lips, eyes bright and eager. Traven didn't share her enthusiasm in the slightest, and was actually wondering if her decision was at all wise. Neither of them said a word until they were standing in his quarters, and Traven was removing his dress uniform, shaking his head as his worries were finally too much to bear.

"Maybe you shouldn't teach me," he said, and Sasha blinked. She didn't have to ask the obvious question, 'Why not?' because she knew why he was feeling trepidation, and she had no real way to reassure him.

Traven was afraid that he would fall.

"I offered to teach you," Sasha to said. "I haven't forgotten the risks."

Traven looked up at her, looking like the nine-teen year old boy that he was, and searched her face desperately for proof of her sincerity. "I want to protect people," he said. "I am tired of being an instrument solely of destruction."

"I can teach you to be a bastion of safety," Sasha promised, even though her strength was in offensive Force abilities. Traven, after a long pause, nodded.

"So how does this work?" he asked.

Sasha stepped forward and put a hand on his cheek, widening their training bond through the physical contact and beginning the arduous process of training a person to wield the Force.

* * *

Traven stared down at the small datapad in his hand, gritting his teeth in concentration and willing the damn thing to move just an inch, turning red with embarrassment as Sasha watched him, a small half-smile on her lips.

"Problem?" she asked gently, kneeling beside him. She had found him in his quarters after his shift, doing as she had asked him to and attempting to lift a datapad with the Force. She knew that it was almost unheard of for a beginner to accomplish the task, but it trained them to search for their connection to the Force and to continue to try in the face of adversity. Most students, however, simply gave up when they found it impossible.

Not Traven.

Traven glared at the datapad in anger and shook his head, closing his eyes and imagining himself crushing it in his palm and laughing in victory as his accursed foe was finally defeated. There was a loud crack, followed by the shatter of transparisteel and the buzz of electronics, and when Traven opened his eyes, the datapad was a crumpled ball of metal, floating an inch above his palm and rotating slowly, crunching periodically. Sasha blinked.

"Oops," Traven said, looking at his teacher and laughing sheepishly. Sasha grinned and pointed at the destroyed datapad.

"It is levitating, but I think you went overboard just a little," she teased, and Traven grunted, dropping the datapad. Looks like he'll have to write a new journal.

"Was that supposed to happen?" he asked.

Sasha shook her head. "It was supposed to be impossible," she said. "I've never seen anyone actually lift their first datapad. I'm actually a little confused. Tell me how you did it."

"I got angry," Traven shrugged. "It just happened."  
This made Sasha nod her head, probing through the training bond for any taint within her student. Even if it didn't seem likely that he could turn to the dark side because of a datapad, but she wasn't going to take any chances. When she saw his aura, it was silvery and slippery, as it always was, and nearly impossible to read. "Try to do it without being angry," Sasha said. "I've always been told that anger leads to the dark side."

Traven grabbed another datapad and tried to recreate what he had done without crushing the datapad, but it simply sat on his palm and looked at him. Sasha watched his mind as he concentrated, noticing that the pulse of Force energy was hidden beneath layers of trivial thought that he had piled up to defend against mind reading. "You think you can crush it again?"

Traven shrugged and remembered the frustration and anger that he had felt, ad immediately he felt the power surge from him, wrapping around the datapad like a vice and compressing. He stopped before the datapad was destroyed this time, however, and nodded. "Yes," he said.  
Sasha nodded and adjusted herself so that she was sitting next to him. "Lesson number one," she said, chuckling. "Letting your emotions control you is a sure way to lose yourself. Many people believe that the Jedi are emotionless, but this is not true. We must simply exert control over our feelings, so that our actions remain uninfluenced by them. By allowing your frustration and anger to influence your response to the Force, you are risking a brush with the dark side."  
"How else do you touch the Force?" Traven asked. "I can't seem to find the same power without my emotions."  
Sasha smiled and entered his mind through the bond. "Try again, I'll show you where to find it."

Traven nodded and lifted the datapad, focusing on it. She felt him imagining it floating, and his mind began reaching around blindly, searching for a power that it knew existed but had lost. Sasha took the searching probe and drove it through the layers that he had built around the node of power, and the datapad lifted into the air. When Traven felt the power open up, all of his shielding was stripped away, and the power surged forth like a river though a dam. A second later, everything in the room, including Sasha and himself, was floating a foot above the ground and rotating counter-clockwise.

"Well," Traven said, grinning. Sasha could see that the exertion was straining him. "This is interesting."

Sasha didn't tell him that she doubted she would be able to reproduce what he had just done, but instead withdrew her guidance from his mind and waited to see if his connection would collapse once again. When it didn't, she smiled. "You learned that _very _fast," she said.

"Learned what?" Traven asked, releasing his hold on the Force. His instinctive shielding was thrown up again, but the node of power wasn't covered this time, as if his aura had grown accustomed to its power and was unwilling to let it go.

"Telekinesis," Sasha said. "Most Jedi don't figure it out for almost a year of training."

Traven shrugged. "I'm older than most padawan learners," he said.

"Indeed," she said. "So you can lift big objects, but can you lift small things? Try lifting a strand of my hair."

Traven nodded and narrowed his eyes. Sasha squeaked in surprise when all the hair on her head was pulled sharply upwards, and Traven dropped it immediately, eyes wide as a curse flew from his mouth. Sasha laughed and gestured for him to try again. With a grimace of humility, Traven nodded, but his second attempt was no better than the first.

"We've found something to work on," Sasha said, the gentle notes of her chuckle filling his quarters. Traven nodded and grinned slightly.

They stayed up for almost seven hours training his focus, and by the time they were finished, both of them were exhausted enough that Sasha didn't bother going across the hall to her own bunk. Traven didn't argue with her as she snuggled against his chest, and he fell asleep almost immediately.

* * *

"I've only seen several people learn as quickly as Traven has," Sasha told Meetra as she sipped her tea, watching the younger Jedi from the chair at Meetra's desk. Meetra was lying on her back, arms behind her head with her eyes closed, flowing brown locks of hair splayed out like a fan behind her.

The only indication that Meetra had even heard Sasha's words was the slight quirking of her lips.

"He's already figured out Force Barriers," she informed the Jedi Knight.

At this, Meetra opened her eyes. "Has he?" she asked. "Have you taught him Force Lightning? Force Blast? Force Javelin?"  
"He insisted on defensive abilities," Sasha said, shaking her head. "I taught him Force Push and several variations of telekinesis. Both are weapons in their own right."

"Only if the user figures out how to focus them correctly," Meetra said with a sagely expression. "One does not win a war with defensive capabilities only."

Sasha shrugged. "We're still a week out from Taris. I can teach him something that doesn't have ties to the dark side before we arrive."

"Every Force ability has ties to the dark side, Sasha. Surely you learned that from Greus," Meetra said, sounding somewhat pompous. Talravians didn't intend to sound that way, but their accent was just perfect for a snobby personality.

"I know that," Sasha snapped in mock irritation. "But Force Choke and Force Lightning are a bit more blatant than others."

"You use both," Meetra said. "And you are yet pure."

Sasha sighed. "Don't lecture me please. I still don't like Force Choke, even if I know how to use it. You know that."

Meetra nodded her head. "No ability is inherently evil or good," she said. "Just as a lightsaber cannot be evil nor good, neither can your Force."

"That is untrue," Sasha said, glad that she knew more than the other Jedi. "There are variations of several techniques that only Dark Side users can use. Force Lightning, for example, is much stronger and takes a purple hue if a tainted user attempts it."

Meetra was silent at this, but she did swing her legs out of the bed to look at her friend. "And if Traven's lightning is purple? What would you do?"

"It won't be," Sasha said adamantly.

Meetra clucked her tongue. "Love is blind indeed, Sasha, if you cannot see the nature of the man you have taken as a student."

"Who are you to judge him, if you have never spoken to him?" Sasha asked somewhat heatedly. Meetra lifted her hands in a placating gesture.

"Calm yourself. I am not saying that it is impossible for him to remain untainted, but I have heard the rumors and know that he is not the paragon Commander that many soldiers believe him to be," Meetra said. "If he is as powerful as you say, we must be prepared for the possibility."

"There will be no preparation," Sasha said fiercely. "If he falls, I will take full responsibility for it."

"You'll probably be dead," Meetra said calmly. "The way I see it, you're all that's stopping the darkness within him. He wants to protect people, you said, but he can't do that unless he first learns to protect himself. Can you teach him that, Sasha? Or are you simply setting him up to fail?"

Meetra's words held a truth in them that stung more than her lack of trust ever could, and Sasha shook her head, unable to even imagine what it would be like if Traven, the only student that she had ever taken, fell to the clutches of the dark side. He had darkness in him, she knew. She had seen it, and it had shown itself when he crushed the datapad in anger. That could have easily been a human skull, crushed in anger, coating Traven's bright aura in a layer of slimy darkness. Sasha didn't know what Traven would do when he was forced to make a choice, but it was the possibility of all the good things that he could accomplish, all the lives he could save, that had convinced Sasha to train him. If the Jedi had accepted him so long ago, he would easily have been a knight already, one of the youngest in the Order.

But it was too late now.

"I don't know," Sasha said, looking at her friend. "I can only hope that I made the right choice."

"The future is clouded in darkness, as it always is, but I do not sense that your student will become a threat to the galaxy," Meetra said. "But my senses have been known to be...incorrect."

Sasha's jaw clenched when she remembered Meetra's incorrect prediction of the mission that Greus had died on. The only reason that he had left was because Meetra saw that he would be successful, but he hadn't been, and not he was dead. The future was a fickle mistress, and it only divulged its secrets sparingly. "I will teach him to be a light," Sasha said, "and if his destiny allows, he will stay that way."

Meetra nodded her head. That would have to be enough.

* * *

Traven stood in the cargo hold, holding a powerful shield up in front of him and coating his body in a firm barrier, watching as Sasha prepared an assault against his defenses. They had started doing mock Force battles to train him how to use his abilities in combination, but Traven was still struggling with the finer details. As Sasha's storm of yellow lightning cackled through the air, the strong tang of ozone curling his nostrils, Traven noticed a weakness in his shield and amended it, blocking the relentless attack soundly and absorbing some of the residual power. His body hummed with the energy of the Force, and his barrier shattered as his control wavered, but the shield remained strong. The heat from the lightning working against his shield washed over his skin, causing his eyes to twitch, and Traven growled, using an ability that he had learned recently to protect his arms and hands before dropping the difficult to maintain shield. The lightning struck Traven's palms, drawn there by his coaxing, and pulsed into his body, dissipating into harmless Force energy and gathering in the palms of his hands. Traven focused all of his efforts on holding Sasha's assault, using the energy from her lightning to defend against the Force blasts that shot across the floor of the cargo hold. A crowd was gathering to watch near the turbolift, jaws agape as Traven stood against the torrent of lightning and whistling winds.

It broke in a magnificent blast when Traven lacked the concentration to keep his defenses firm, lightning blasting in every direction instead of collecting in his palms, and Traven grunted as if burned his chest, but he signaled Sasha through the bond to let her know that he wanted to keep going. The lightning storm intensified, forcing Traven to erect barriers and shields, diverting the energy away from his palms, before he wen ton the offensive for the first time in their bout. Gathering a sphere of power, Traven tossed it towards Sasha, but she easily deflected it to the side, as it had been moving sluggishly and poorly aimed. Traven grimaced with the concentration required to keep his defenses firm and attack at the same time. Sasha's own barriers and shields went up, noticeably weaker than Traven's, and he began to feel an inkling of hope.

Maybe, just maybe, he could do it.

Instead of making a sphere with his energy, Traven made a blunt lance, holding it between his palms and allowing his defenses to flicker as he poured energy into his effort. When he felt it was ready, he directed it to Sasha's shield with his mind and willed it to fly, a deafening crack filling the air as it blasted away, causing Traven to step backwards. The soldier's gasped when it struck a millisecond later, breaking on Sasha's shields and barriers and knocking her backwards almost five meters. Her lightning stopped as she flew, and she softened her fall with the Force, staring across the emptied cargo bay at Traven. He had just hit her with a Force Javelin. Narrowing her eyes, Sasha grinned mischievously. Traven was grinning like an idiot when he saw Sasha mimicking his process...with one in each hand, and he immediately threw up his defenses again, only just in time to stop the dual blasts that hit him, followed by another torrent of lightning. That yellow lightning was really annoying.

Traven's defenses took another Force javelin, the resounding boom of its release still echoing in his ears as he deflected blow after blow, trying desperately to find a way to defend himself. Another javelin broke his shield, staggering him and allowing lightning to burn across his arms, but his barrier was up a second later, catching the lightning and forcing Sasha to try another tactic. As she gathered another javelin, Traven focused on it and waited, sensing the moment that she released it. The sonic boom filled the cargo hold again, and the bolt whipped towards a seemingly undefended Traven, but it curved at the last moment and slammed into a crate, and Traven followed his clever deflection by launching his own assault. He levitated a hundred different crates and sent them in a rain towards his teacher, willing several spheres into existence and blasting them across the ground at her legs. She kicked the Force attacks aside and raised her hands to stop the incoming rain of cargo crates, and Traven's face contorted in effort as he attempted to keep control over the levitating objects.

For a moment, the crates were suspended near the ceiling, unmoving, but Sasha was better at multi-tasking, and she had formed a Force javelin while fighting to keep Traven's crates at bay. With a crack, it zipped forward and Struck Traven's chest, breaking and throwing him back against the wall. The crates dropped to the ground when his hold on them released, and Sasha grinned, victorious once again. Traven, on the other hand, was lying on his face, groaning with annoyance.

"Think you could have hit me a little harder?" he complained as he rolled over, and Sasha's melodious laugh danced across the cargo hold to him. As the spectators applauded and returned to their work, Traven felt her response in his mind.

_I still could. _Traven could feel her grin as she sent the words, and all he did was groan.


	28. Part 2 Chapter 21

Chapter 27

Traven tilted the knife in his hands, watching the light glint off the side of the blade, accentuating the razor-sharp edge and revealing the writing that was inscribed into the metal, identifying it as a Maleesta family blade. Every Echani older than sixteen had one, and they guarded it closely, for the loss of a family blade was an unimaginable offense. It wasn't to be used in warfare or any type of combat, but as a symbol of a family's unity and strength, a testament to their honor. Any misdeeds done my a holder of the blade would have every similar blade marked with a reminder of his crimes. On the Maleesta blade, Traven had scratched marks for murder, for dishonesty, for betrayal and he had given tiny lines along the base to symbolize that he was an outcast. If any Echani saw his blade, the would wince in revulsion and shy away from him.

Traven remembered when Cherya had flown to Corsucant to give it to him, holding it out in the light of Coruscant's sun, with tears in her eyes. It had been marked because of Valyn's murder and suicide, but those markings were on the hilt, signifying that they were not decreed by a trial. She had given it to him and apologized, saying that there was nothing that she could have done to stop them, but Traven hadn't been angry. He had taken his family blade and reassured his mentor, sending her back to Echani, away from his instructors at the SIS. They would have used his connection to her against him as a lesson in the danger of attachment.

That night, Traven had sat and carved the symbol for murder on the blade, along with his name, just beneath it. Two days later, he inscribed the markings of an outcast, reflecting the fact that he no longer had a family name to besmirch. The other testaments of his crimes followed with months in between, and Traven had been forced to reforge it twice and make it longer, giving him more room. The name of every victim that he could remember was inscribed on the blade in Echani, so small that I was almost illegible. Tonight, he was going to give this blade to Sasha.

The ship was arriving at Taris in the morning, and the thought that she might die on the surface had been nagging him for the whole week. Finally, he had decided to give his blade to her as a sign of his growing affection for her. It was something that he deemed necessary, even if she refused to keep his blade and ignored him. At least she would know how much he cared, without him having to say it.

In Echani culture, if a man gave his family blade to a woman, and she accepted it, they were considered bonded, or married. It was similar to the tradition of proposal in many other human or near-human cultures. He knew that Sasha would be coming in several minutes to meditate with him, as she had done ever since she taught him to feel the Force, and he had prepared himself to be rejected, to watch her walk away. It was unfair of him to expect her to violate the Order's code any more than she already had, to throw away any chance she might have of being accepted back after the war was complete, and he didn't. So no matter how much he wanted to, how much it pained him to stop himself, he wouldn't tell her that he loved her. Not in words.

He barely even looked up from the glint of the durasteel blade as she walked in, tossing her auburn hair behind her shoulders and spotting him beside his desk. She stopped when she saw the knife he was holding, brow furrowing in confusion, and Traven smiled.

"Hi," he said, gesturing to one of the two chairs beside his desk. Sasha returned his greeting as she sat, crossing her legs and leaning forward, curious.

"What's with the knife, Traven?" she asked. Traven sensed that she was slightly anxious, and he realized that she didn't know about the tradition, or the ritual. With a small breath, he began to explain.

"This is my family blade," he said. "You can read Echani?"

She nodded, and he held the blade out of her, hands shaking slightly as his heart pounded. He felt like he was taking advantage of her ignorance with the offer, but promised that he would tell her after she had already accepted it. She reached out and took the blade, cradling it in her hands as if it was a precious gem and poring over the writing on its sides. She gasped. "You're shaking," she said. "I've never seen you do that, even before a battle."

"You've never seen me before a battle," Traven pointed out, smiling. "But you're right. Did you see the markings?"

"The blade says you're a liar, a murderer, an outcast, and a psychopath," she said. "It has the legacy of your father on its hilt. There are names...hundreds of them. Timothy, Gerald, Brent..."

"Stop," Traven said suddenly, pain filling his eyes. "Those names aren't meant to be read aloud."

"What is this?" Sasha asked.

"It is my family blade," Traven repeated. "All Echani have one from the age of sixteen. Any crimes done by a member of the family is inscribed upon their blade, and the blades of their descendants. My blade was clean, except for my father's markings on the hilt, before I received it. I put the rest of the markings there myself."

Sasha looked back to the blade in her hands, running her thumb over the words. "Why do you subject yourself to such regret?"

"It is Svy's will," Traven said. "I may not be an overly religious man, but nothing is above the law. The markings on the dagger tell the person that I give it to everything that I have done, so that they may accept it with full knowledge of the giver's actions. I thought that...you might like to have it."

"There's more to this that you aren't telling me, isn't there?" Sasha asked. "Some tradition surrounding this blade..."

Traven hid all thoughts of the ritual from his mind and focused on her eyes, releasing pent up breath in a loud exhale and shaking his head. It would be wrong to become bonded because of fear, Traven decided, but there was nothing wrong with her holding his blade until he could tell her why he had given it to her. "I'll tell you someday," he promised her, taking one of her hands between his own. "I vow that I will tell you. I just...I can't do it now, not for the reasons that I want to. For now, I want you to keep it."

"Me? Traven, this seems like it is extremely important to you, I couldn't," she started, moving to hand it back. Traven gasped and looked away from her as if she had struck him.

"Please," he said, pushing it back towards her gently. "Don't ever give it back to me. I could't stand it if you did."

"You're worrying me," Sasha said, taking the blade and putting it n the folds of her robes. She ut a hand on his cheek and forced him to look at her.

"Will you tell me what's bothering you? What made you give the blade to me?" she asked.

Traven smiled, suddenly feeling tired. He wouldn't tell her about the dreams he'd been having. It would only serve to worry her. "I gave it to you because I wanted to. Now, we're going to have a long day tomorrow, we should meditate and get some sleep."

Sasha looked like she wanted to ask him some more questions, but allowed them both to fall into a meditative trance, clearing their minds of all thoughts and focusing on the serenity of the Force. When Traven decided to go to sleep that night, Sasha stayed with him, burying her head comfortably int eh crook of her neck. Traven stroked her hair for a long time before he fell asleep.

* * *

_A small robed figure was caught in front of the beast, igniting a brilliant green lightsaber and standing before the huge mech. The war machine towered over her by three meters, and its hands swung down to crush her like a bug, but she stood her ground, throwing up a Force shield that caught both huge hands. They slammed into the invisible barriers with resounding force, driving Sasha to her knees as she struggled to keep her shields up._

_ Traven was running towards her, two hundred meters away, with a vibrosword in his hands. His mind was clouded by panic as he drove himself to run faster, pushing aside the Mandalorians soldiers that got in his way. _

_ He didn't make it._

_ Sasha, weakened from her exertions earlier in the battle, faltered for a brief second, and the hands swung closed, crushing her between them. A scream tore out of her broken body, piercing the din of battle and tearing at Traven's soul. He felt their bond snap like a taught rope that had just been cut, whipping his mind and leaving deep, painful gashes. He gathered the Force in his body and attacked the huge mech, taring it apart with powerful blasts and throwing it off the side of the ramps, where if fell for almost a kilometer before hitting the surface of Taris far below. There was no celebration by the Republic as they closed the breach and attempted to hold it, and Traven stumbled over to Sasha' crumpled form, staring into her lifeless eyes._

_ The dream continued further than it had before, drawing Traven's gaze to her hands, where a glinting knife was clutched, bearing Traven's inscriptions._

* * *

Traven awakened an hour before he had meant to, eyes flying open in panic. He tightened his arms around Sasha, reassuring himself that she was still alive, allowing the scent of her hair to drive the memories away. She shifted in his arms in response, putting a hand on his bare chest and sighing silently, her warm breath tickling his neck. Traven closed his eyes and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling.

It was just a dream, he thought. I can't let this dream scare me like a mere child.

When Traven's alarm went off and Sasha awakened, Traven pressed a brief kiss against her forehead and made his way to the hangar in preparation for the battle. He arrived to find Raisha already there, strapping a borrowed set of battle armor and calibrating her vibrosword. Traven sat down in the cargo hold of his ship beside her, taking his own set of white armor and beginning outfitting himself for a long battle. He had a blaster rifle, a sniper rifle, a vibrowsord, two combat knives, a canteen of water, and three field rations. The guns and his field supplies were on his back, the sword and knives were strapped to his belt. When he stood, rolling his shoulder under the thirty three kilograms of weight, Raisha slapped his shoulder guard.

"Are you ready to get back out there, Commander?" she asked, searching his face. Traven nodded his head

"More than ever," he said, grinning. "How about you?"

"A little apprehensive this time, Commander," she said. "This is probably the biggest battle we've ever fought."

Traven nodded. "Probably the biggest of the war," he agreed. "This is what we trained for."

"No it isn't. We were trained to infiltrate and eliminate," Raisha argued.

Traven laughed. "I remember giving you advanced assault courses, Raisha. Unless you've forgotten them?"

The jab seemed to lighten the mood a little bit as she bristled in mock indignation. "I can't believe you'd doubt me."

"Uh-huh, LT," Traven said. After a slight pause, he put a hand on her shoulder plate. "We;ll be fine, Raisha. I promise."

"You've got all your fancy new powers to protect yourself," Raisha said, chuckling. "Us mortals need to rely on our own abilities."  
"I'm hardly immortal," Traven said. "I can't block blaster shots with my vibrosword."

"I watched you block them with your hand, though."

"Technicalities," Traven dismissed with a smile and a shrug. "Let's get to the cockpit and see what General Surik has planned."

Raisha followed him to the cockpit, but there was no debriefing in progress when they arrived. Raisha shook her head as she took a seat in the copilot's chair. "Surik debriefed an hour ago," she explained. "It's going to be standard procedure, pretty much. We're to take the initial landing zone and expand from there. Most of the fighting is going to happen in the first week."

Traven nodded his head. "Today," he said, invoking one of Svy's most common sayings. "Death brings her most dreaded kisses."

* * *

Both Republic fleets his the system within ten minutes of the other, but the Mandalorian armada had prepared a stalwart defense against the attackers. As the Republic descended upon the Mandalorian fleets, they rushed out to meet it, guns blazing and fighters spewing from their bays. The _Invulnerable _was one of the most powerful warships int eh Republic fleet, but it seemed almost worthless in comparison to the might that the Mandalorians displayed with their fleet, splitting the Republic forces into two groups int eh hopes of killing them separately, but Meetra Surik was a master of warfare, and she guided the Republic through the tumultuous cliffs of defeat and onto the road to victory.

Traven flew his ship expertly, keeping fighters away from the shielding hubs of the _Invulnerable _and exacting grievous wounds on any capital ship that strayed too close to his dual Aratech Zx-580 concussion missile tubes. The pivoting ion cannon earned its keep as it automatically targeted enemy fighters and took them down, never ceasing its deep hum for the entire duration fo the battle. Traven began to sweat from concentration as he guided his fighter into a wing of Mandalorian bombers,closing his eyes and allowing instict to guide his hands. With movements impossible for a force-blind pilot, Traven dodged the bombers' defense lasers and shredded through th wing with the repeating quad turret, firing with incredible accuracy. Raisha barely had anything to do beside monitor their shielding, simply watching her commander unleash havoc on the Mandalorian wings that threatened the _Invulnerable. _

After several hours of nonstop fighting, the Mandalorian capital ship went up in flames, and cheers echoed over the comm unit of Traven's ship. Traven, however, clutched his chest as an echo of ten thousand deaths hit him, taking his breath away and forcing tears into his eyes. He squeezed them shut and shook his head, focusing on the battle ahead of him. That was only the first of seven capital ships.

"SIS team Sigma seven was on board that ship," Admiral Saul Karath reported. "We're scanning the escape pods for their tags...Negative."

"Affirmative, Admiral, keep pushing their western flank," Meetra Surik ordered. Traven nodded his head in response to the news and barrel rolled into the flight path of some Mandalorian fighters. It was strange that the more he used the Force to keep himself out of danger, predicting enemy movements and guiding his accuracy,t eh keener the death of his target was felt. Every time a fighter died like the one in his sights, bursting int eh center and allowing greenish flames to consume its frame, Traven felt as if he had been punched in the gut. Even more disturbing than that was that something in him was crying out in glee with every further explosion, driving Traven to fly with more precision, faster maneuvers. With every kill it grew stronger.

"By the Force, Commander, is your ship even supposed to make turns like that?" a Republic pilot asked him, joining Traven in the defense of the shield hubs. It was the leader of Gold squadron, a man named Carth Onasi.

"Can you guard these hubs?" Traven asked, shrugging off the man's compliment.

"Aye," Carth acknowledged, and Traven put power into the thrusters, rocketing off towards a Mandalorian cruiser that was pounding into the side of a Republic Hammerhead-class vessel. The Republic ship's shields had dropped, and it was losing chunks of its hull fast. Traven could feel the panic of the crewmen as they were pulled from their hallways, their organs bursting as their blood suddenly began to boil and freeze. A swarm of Mandalorian fighters was engaged with Republic squadrons Green, Blue, and Red, as well as bomber team Beta. Traven pulled alongside the bombers and activated the comm.

"I have you covered, Beta," he said, readying his hands on the gun's controls. Raisha took control of the ion cannon, pausing its constant thrum for a brief moment. The bombers tilted slightly, turning towards the Mandalorian ship, crossing over the side of the triangular bow and dropping their payloads. The Mandaloria fighters screamed after them like angry hornets, and Traven pulled up sharply, giving his guns a clear shot and opening up. Three Mandalorian fighters were hit on the wings, careening into their partners and causing the formation to scatter, where it was engaged by a Republic squadron that tore them apart with ease.

"Going for another run. Targeting the bridge," Beta leader reported. Traven stopped his ship and turned on a dime, pulling alongside the bombers once again.

"Still got you," he assured. With Traven as their guard, the bombers made six passes on the Mandalorian ship, shutting down its shields and killing its command. With the bridge destroyed, shields deactivated, power at fifty percent, hull integrity threatened, and life support systems in jeopardy, the ship started to pull away and return to its fleet, but the Republic capital ships ate up the juicy target immediately, tearing the cruiser apart piece by piece. Every turbolaser blast that struck the cruiser gave Traven a powerful rush of adrenaline, and he grinned.

Another capital ship fell moments later, and Meetra Surik gave the fleet-wide command to land their troops, moving into low orbit where they could give support to the soldiers on the ground. The planetary defenses fired up at the Republic ships, but they were destroyed by the turbolaser fire that was raining from the sky. One of the ramparts collapsed from a turbolaser strike, tearing a skyscraper down as it fell, and Traven could almost hear the screams of the people that had been hiding inside. How did the Jedi deal with this?

"Commander, we should join the ground forces," Raisha said. Traven nodded and handed over the controls.

"I need a moment," he said, standing and holding his head in his hands. Raisha nodded and guided their ship into the swarm of landing shuttles.

* * *

The feeling, Traven found, had less sting after it had happened several hundred times. As he ran across the battlefield, firing his blaster rifle at the Mandalorian lines, he simply ignored it, focusing on the task at hand. They had landed and taken several kilometers of Taris' Upper City, but the Mandalorians had charged out of the lower levels with Basilisks and driven the Republic back. Now, after almost two hours of fighting, the Republic was losing ground fast, and there didn't seem to be anything they could do. Meetra Surik was trying desperately to hold the lines, but the Mandalorian war droids were too much for the Republic tanks, an Aratech design, to handle. Traven ducked as a tank shell whizzed by, slamming into a war machine and knocking it to the side, but it stood again moments later, spraying blaster fire from its dual quad turrets and shredding through a Republic infantry platoon.

"Armor Piercing rockets have been deployed to the lines," Meetra Surik informed her troops. "Stay clear of the Basilisk droids."

Traven watched the doid take six rockets to the chest, each one tearing into the cockpit of its driver and blasting a huge hole in its center. It staggered forward and toppled onto the barricades, throwing dirt and dust into the air. The rampart rocked as it fell, throwing both Traven and Raisha to the ground. With a curse, she stood and pulled her rifle up, the harsh bark filling Traven's stunned ears. More rockets whizzed across the battlefield, and the Republic armor rolled forward, firing shell after shell at the Mandalorian soldiers. Just as it seemed the Republic was going to make some progress, more war droids tottered around the corner, escorted by a full division of Mandalorian soldiers. Their war cry was followed by rocket fire, and the missiles drove the Republic soldiers into cover as the world seemed to turn into fire around them, deafening and blinding every soldier along the barricade. The missiles came for minutes on end, and Traven felt every impact in his gut, the shock-waves rolling over him.

"We're getting pounded down here! Requesting reinforcements!" one fo the infantry commanders was shouting over the comm. Traven drew himself up to a knee the moment that the rockets stopped, but he only had time to draw his vibrosword before the Mandalorians were jumping the barricades.

"Commander! We have to fall back!" Raisha shouted as she blocked an overhead strike from a flying Mandalorian. The soldier landed behind her, and she spun with him, stabbing him through the chest and throwing his body into one of his comrades.

Traven nodded, dispatching his first opponent with a quick block and riposte before activating his comm. "This is Commander Traven S1, giving the retreat order for Division 6. Fall back. I repeat, Fall back."

"Commander, you don't have air support, how are you going to fall back without being cut down?" Meetra quickly argued.

"We can't hold here, it's our only option," Traven said.  
The general was quiet for a moment. "Hold that line for five minutes. Division 5 is en route to your location."

"We'll be eradicated!" Traven said.

"Commander!" Surik snapped. "I am ordering you to hold that line. The Brigadier General will follow my orders, and you will fall in line."

Sacrifices are necessary for victory, Traven remembered the saying from the SIS. Meetra was sacrificing the 6th Division for superior control of territory. Traven gritted his teeth and widened his stance, allowing the anger at the Jedi to fuel his movements. Raisha stepped up to his back, keeping him safe from any flanking maneuvers, and together they fought like devils, trading blows with four opponents simultaneously. Traven used a technique that Sasha had taught him on his third day of training that would reinforce his natural stamina with the Force, allowing him to move faster and hit harder without tiring himself out. It was how she had been able to spar with him despite his superior size. Traven used it now to completely dominate any opponent that he fought, battering down tehir defenses and crunching through their armor like a battering ram.

His blade bit deeply into the chest of an enemy, and he felt the Force ripple as his life ended, but instead of feeling a twinge of sadness or regret, Traven felt the rush of a hunter finally catching his quarry, the lust for more blood. It was a feeling that he knew well, somehting that every Echani learned about when they were young. It was called Battle Apathy to Echani, Blood Rage to Iridonians, Battle Fury to Mandalorians. In every culture it was the same. It was a soldier losing all inhibitions and fighting with everything he had, fighting not only for survival, but for the thrill of the kill. The most primal of human instincts, the darkest shadow of a man's morality. Traven smiled as he blocked an attack and blasted the soldier away with the Force, allowing it even more control and using it to erect barriers around himself and Raisha. He charged forward, into the coming waves of enemies, and became a whirlwind of steel. He took another vibrosword from his opponent and used it in his left hand as an added defense, blocking attacks from every direction and hammering through his opponents.

He he kicked one in the gut, slamming his hilt down on the back of his skull and vaulting over his crumpling body, stabbing both weapons through another as he came down, pushing aside the readied attack with the Force. He sensed an attack coming from behind him and spun, blocking wit his right weapon and decapitating with the other, immediately shifting his attention to the next threat. He killed five more before he heard Raisha shout, turning in time to see her fall to the ground, holding her arm. He was pulled from his blood lust instantly upon seeing her wounded, and he sprinted to her side, killing the soldier that had wounded her and standing over her fallen form, surrounding himself in a white shield of power.

The Mandalorians surrounded him and lifted blasters, raining fire down upon his dome, but it only flared brighter, as if in defiance of their pathetic attempts to crush it. That was when a familiar cry filled the air.

"FOR THE REPUBLIC!"

Yellow lightning cackled through the air, blasting the Mandalorians away from Traven and Raisha. Their blasters changed focus to the oncoming Republic soldiers, and as the fighting was taken further away from Traven, he knelt beside Raisha and looked over her wounds. "Are you alright?"

"You left me surrounded," she accused, looking down at her wounded arm. "But I'm fine. Just a nasty cut."

"I'm sorry. That was stupid of me," Traven said.

Raisha shrugged. "I should have paid more attention. You fight like a fiend, sir."

Traven knew that she was angry at him from the use of formalities, and yet she still took responsibility for her own wounds. That was one of the first things that he had taught in the SIS, after all. 'If you are wounded, it's your own fault. Never blame your fellows for your own ineptitude.'

Traven helped her stand and turned as Sasha approached,green lightsaber humming in her hands. "Are you alright?" she asked.

"Uninjured," Traven reported. "What's the situation?"

"The 6th is at ten percent strength," Sasha said. "But we're making progress. Are you able to fight?"

"Yes, General," Raisha said, applying a small kolto patcha nd hefting her vibrosword. Sasha nodded and pointed.

"You and Traven should assist the East side. We're about to make a push, and we could use ferocity like yours on that side," she said. "Good luck."

Traven nodded and watcher her run towards the West, lightning cackling in her hands. Raisha elbowed him. "Come on."

He nodded his head and rolled his shoulders. At the East flank, they found relatively mild resistance, as most of the basilisk war droids had been destroyed in the previous assault. The Republic armor was steamrolling the Mandalorian lines, and they just kept retreating further and further, giving more and more land. Traven felt something in his mind telling him that not everything was going according to plan, and he paused for a moment, activating his comm.  
"Any strange readings to report?" he asked.

"None, sir," the reply came instantly. The Mandalorians fell back again, and the Republic advanced, creating a crossfire that was ten meters further down the ramps than it had been before.

"Are you getting _any _readings?" Traven asked, on impulse. The soldier was quiet for a moment.

"Blast, they've tricked us. We've lost orbital support!"

Meetra Surik spoke next. "Stop the advance and pull back immediately, we need..."

It was too late. The fire began to rain form the skies like a deadly hail, tearing into the ramps ad blasting huge chunks out of the builings on either side.

"Get DOWN!" Traven shouted, diving forward and covering his head as rubble flew across the streets, crushing a squad of men beneath huge slabs of durasteel. The fire stopped briefly as the Republic fleet drove forward, distracting the guns, and Traven stood. Sasha didn't give the retreat order, so Traven took over.

"Fall back now!" he shouted, keeping his head low.

"Do as he says," Meetra reaffirmed. "But Traven, stay back with the armor to cover their retreat."

"Affirmative."

Traven and Raisha made their way to the tanks in moments, covering the panicking Republic soldiers with blaster fire. That was when things took another turn for the worse. The walls of the skyscrapers on both sides burst apart as fifteen Basilisk war droids stormed through, stomping angrily towards the Republic armor. Traven swore and ducked down as a rocket flew overhead and blasted the tank behind him apart, and he barely had time to survey the field before he saw it:

A small robed figure was caught in front of the beast, igniting a brilliant green lightsaber and standing before the huge mech. The war machine towered over her by three meters, and its hands swung down to crush her like a bug, but she stood her ground, throwing up a Force shield that caught both huge hands. They slammed into the invisible barriers with resounding force, driving Sasha to her knees as she struggled to keep her shields up.

"NO!" Traven shouted, jumping to his feet and sprinting towards her, through the fire of the destroyed tank. A Republic soldier stumbled into his way, stunned by the blast, and Traven threw him aside, bounding towards his mentor and friend. He was too late, just like in his dream.

Weakened by her exertions during the battle, Sasha's shields faltered, and the hands slammed together around her, the green lightsaber blade throwing sparks in a shower around her as it cut. Her scream pierced through the din of the battle, as she struggled for the briefest moment, falling to the ground in a lifeless heap. Traven felt something horrific, a snap that felt almost physical and a searing burn as his link with her was severed, and an inhuman scream tore from him as he fell to his knees, staring up at the sky. Mandalorians staggered away from him, holding their ears, and Traven only stopped when his throat grew hoarse. He shuddered as his mind suddenly felt cold, looked around himself at the battlefield, at the war droid that was dripping with the blood of his beloved, and a dark, cold thing squirmed within him. He gathered power in his hands and blasted the arms of the droid, tearing them from their sockets and causing the huge thirty ton mech to stumble. With a second of preparation, Traven gathered another blast and lengthened it into a javelin, throwing it with a flick of his wrist. The pulsating white blast hit the mech in the hips, blasting both legs off and throwing it over the side of the ramps.

Mandalorian soldiers ran towards Traven, but he simply gripped them by the throats, choking twelve of them and stalking towards another mech, the mere sight of the war machine reminding him of her scream. With a hoarse shout, he tore the machine apart, discarding his weapons in favor of the Force, ripping metal limbs from their chassis and using them to bludgeon the other mechs. The Mandalorians saw his threat and attempted to stop him with the other droids, and Traven felt anger rise up in him. They were going to kill him, just like they had killed Sasha. They were going to try.

Traven grabbed a Republic tank and lifted it as if it was a mere datapad, throwing it out in front of him to absorb the war droids' attacks before he threw the destroyed tank aside, forgetting about it entirely. He was lifted from the ground unconsciously by the power that he was channeling, and he began to blast the droids apart, tearing huge holes in their chests with Force javelins. Blaster fire flew up at him, and Traven growled, throwing up an impenetrable shield and choking the life out of his attackers.

"You killed her!" he shouted as they writhed on the ground, clawing at their own throats to alleviate the pain. Traven felt an instinct in his mind and delved into it, cackling energy in his hands like he had seen Sasha do, like he had failed to do so many times during his brief training with her. It tore out of his body and slammed into the soldiers around him, a deep purple cyclone of power. They screamed and fell silent, and Traven adjusted his focus to the remaining droids, snarling and floating towards them. Several rockets flew at him, exploding against his shields and causing him to feel a little dizzy, but he shrugged it off, ignoring the blood that started to pour from his nose, and ripped the droids apart, an unstoppable force of death. The Mandalorians began to retreat as their armor was eviscerated, and the Republic tanks, no longer under fire, began to advance once again. Traven felt the anger drain from him and he fell back to the ground amidst the smoking bodies of the men that he had electrocuted. Tears filled his eyes as he shook his head, crawling towards Sasha's body.

There was something in him that hoped she was alive, but she wasn't. Her body had been crushed completely by the droid, contorting her arms and legs into a grotesque heap, and Traven almost couldn't bring himself to look at the boy as he approached, putting a hand on her face and feeling sobs wrack his frame. He bowed his head and squeezed his eyes shut, sitting back.

"No...it can't...I have to be dreaming..." Traven muttered, ooking around. "I have to be. She can't be dead.

"Commander?" Raisha called from somewhere nearby. When she spotted him, she gasped. "Commander!"

She was at his side in an instant, looking down at the body of the Jedi and then to her Commander. She connected the dots immediately. "Traven..."

Traven saw the dagger then, the dagger that he had given her, protruding from her side. It had been pushed into her chest by the droid, but the sight of his family blade in her body made Traven tense, an intense nausea washing over him. He reached out with shaky hands and gripped the hilt, pulling it free and holding it in front of him. A tear fell from his face and hit the blade, washing a spot of blood away to reveal a single rune.

Betrayer.

Raisha took her commander by the arm and led him away from the body, towards the Republic lines, and he didn't say a word until they were sitting in a medical shuttle.

Traven pulled his family blade from his jacket and placed it on the bed beside him. "You know what that is?"

Raisha swallowed and nodded. "You gave it to her, didn't you?"

Traven nodded. "I never told her, Raisha," he whispered. The tears returned, and he held his head in his hands. "I never told her..."

Raisha sat beside him and put a hand on his shoulder. They stayed that way until they were called back to the battle lines by the medic.

A/N: Please R&R We're nearing the end of the Mandalorian Wars now.


	29. Part 2 Chapter 22

Chapter 28

Traven spent the few hours of the night awake, staring out at the destroyed ramparts with empty eyes. His face was bruised, despite the fact that he hadn't taken any hits during the fighting, but his body was practically humming with the power of the Force, feeding off of the emotions that were running rampant through him. Anger at himself for failing to protect Sasha, anger at the Mandalorians for killing her, hatred at the SIS for forcing him into this life of blood and betrayal. Hatred at himself for loving Sasha and never telling her. Angry tears squeezed from the corners of his eyes and slid down his cheeks, leaving small red trails on his bruised, dust-streaked face. He felt a presence approaching him and did nothing, waiting for the familiar aura to announce herself.

"Traven," Raisha said, softly. He didn't move as she sat down beside him, eyes catching the blade that he still held in his hands, fiddling idly with the razor-sharp edge. Was he thinking of suicide? "It wasn't your fault."

"It is," Traven replied, finally moving his eyes to face his Lieutenant. He wondered why she had even bothered to come talk to him. "I knew that it was going to happen and said nothing. I should have protected her."

"You knew? That's impossible," Raisha said.

Traven allowed the silence of the battlefield to reign for a few moments before he whispered. "I saw it in a vision. I watched it happen seven times during the hyperspace jump to Taris, but I didn't tell her. It was just a nightmare, I said. Nothing but a dream. Now..."

"If the vision was the Force telling you the future, then there was nothing you could have done to change it," Raisha tried again. Traven gritted his teeth.

"I should have tried, Raisha! I should have given enough of a damn to do _that _at least!" Traven shouted. "But I didn't."

Raisha was quiet for a long time, watching the dagger glint in the light of the stars. Suddenly, she changed gears. "Why do you keep that blade with you?"

Traven looked down at it, unable to stop himself from reading the runes that were engraved on its flat. He shuddered and closed his eyes. "It reminds me of my failures," he said. "And it will remind all of my enemies of theirs."

"Echani aren't supposed to use their family blades in combat," Raisha said. Traven chuckled darkly, shaking his head.

"I am no Echani," he said. "Not anymore."

"What are you, then?" Raisha asked.

Traven closed his eyes. "Exactly what this blade says."

He tossed it into her lap. Murderer, betrayer, psychopath, liar, outcast.

Raisha didn't leave like he had expected her to, but instead handed him his dagger back and sat at his side, their shoulders brushing together with every deep breath, staring out over the battlefield. Tomorrow, the Mandalorians would attack again, and tomorrow, Traven was going to show them the true power of the Force.

* * *

Traven was like an avenging demon of the battlefield the next day, marching out of the Republic camp with lightning cackling around his hands and a shield shimmering in the air before him. He held a Czerka Peacekeeper-M16 in his left hand and his family dagger in his right, death in his eyes and determination in his step. The Republic soldiers were already at the barricade when he arrived, firing their blasters over the edge and allowing the artillery fire to take most of the casualties. Traven knew that if they stayed where they were, then the Mandalorians wouldn't be able to breach the lines, but the Republic wasn't going to take the planet by holding things at a stalemate. Meetra Surik knew this, and she ordered her soldiers to jump the barricades and assault the Mandalorian position with everything they had. Traven spearheaded the assault himself, running into no man's land with a determined grimace on his face, the Peacekeeper aimed out in front of him. Blaster fire rained down upon the shields that he had thrown in front of him, smothering him in what most would call a flood of energy, but his shields were powerful, and they only wavered once. The Mandalorians realized that focusing on him was the wrong choice after several seconds and shifted their attention to the charging Republic soldiers. Rockets began to fly from both sides, filling the air with the sweet aroma of seared flesh and deafening soldiers of both sides. Traven's helmet sealed him away from the sounds of battle as the fires licked across the surface of the ramps. Raisha, who had previously been taking cover behind a Republic tank, broke from the flaming wreckage and vaulted the Mandalorian barricades, extending her bayonet and wrecking havoc on the enemy position. Traven, however, wasn't to be outdone.

With the help of the Force, Traven jumped fifteen meters forward, into the midst of the struggling Mandalorian lines, and he gathered lightning in his palm, pulling himself up and drawing it back. Instead of hitting an enemy, however, he drove his hand into the ground, blasting a wave of cackling energy in every direction for ten meters, throwing the Mandalorian soldiers into the air. The Republic's men cheered and charged forward, assaulting the vulnerable Mandalorian position, but the basilisk war droids managed to hold them at bay, shredding the Republic's men apart by the tens. Traven saw this and felt a cold hatred wash over him, driving him towards the collection of five war droids. His hands were pulsing with lightning, the heat of the energy washing over his face as he marched across the field, blasting aside any Mandalorian that stood in his way. The droids noticed the approaching threat and adjusted their fire, but Traven was too fast to be hit by their rockets. He ducked and weaved, jumping into the air to avoid a torrent of rocket fire, pushing his palm out in front of him. The droids fired more rockets, but this time, they stopped mid flight, hovering in front of Traven's face as he turned them around with a snarl and sent them careening towards their original owners. The droids were hit by the powerful Aratech ZX-71 warheads in the chest, shattering their armor and sending the five massive, fifty ton war machines to the ground in smoking heaps of slag. Traven landed gracefully and caught an incoming swing of a vibrosword, pushing it aside and breaking the arm that held it.

The soldier shouted in pain and struck at Traven with his other arm, only to have the punch caught and his balance disturbed. As he staggered, Traven slammed him in the chest with a blast of energy, throwing the soldier through the air, out above the two kilometer drop. The Republic soldiers, no longer harassed by the basilisk war droids, advanced quickly, with Traven at their tip, killing the Mandalorian soldiers with an impressive arsenal of Force attacks. Every kill that he gathered caused a beast within him to preen itself, every spray of blood caused him to smile. His eyes flickered a dark yellow, his face paled, and by the time that the sun had reached its height in the sky, Traven was almost unrecognizable. He cackled as he walked across the battlefield, throwing debris in every direction and blasting his enemies with lightning. There was nothing that could stop him.

Raisha watched her commander destroy platoon after platoon, the blood that spattered across his armor and the harsh yellow color of his eyes giving him a maniacal look, and she realized that there was something very wrong. He lifted several Mandalorians from the ground, choking them with the force as he dueled with their comrade, blocking the attacks with his family dagger and laughing with blood-induced glee. When the men he was choking finally died, he dropped them and killed his opponent with a twist of his wrist, using the Force to break the man's neck. The Republic pushed once again, driving forward another three hundred meters along the ramp, pouring into the skyscrapers and clearing the floors. They had covered almost thirty kilometers that day, most of it as a result of Traven's incredible power. The Mandalorians had nothing to fight against him with, and they knew it.

Then, the Republic lost orbital control.

The significance of the Mandalorian cruisers that were currently in low orbit, aiming their turbolasers down at the ramparts of Taris, where Traven was in the midst of a Mandalorian division, was that the Mandalorians recognized his threat and were willing to do anything to eliminate it. The turbolaser batteries opened up, and Raisha watched as the fire rained down from the sky, pounding into the Mandalorian lines and tearing chunks out of the ramparts. She watched Traven kneel and put a shield up above his head, shouting in defiance at the skies as another huge bolt of energy fell upon him, shattering on the white glow of the shield. More blasts fell, tearing the ground away from him, blasting huge sections of the skyscrapers away. A huge mass of debris fell upon the ramps, throwing Traven to the ground, and the turbolaser shots that followed tore the floor away from him, sending him, along with a hundred Mandalorian soldiers and five hundred tons of rubble, plummeting through the darkness, to the Undercity. Raisha watched him fall, and from her position at the edge of the long drop, she thought she saw a smile on his face.

* * *

Traven fell for about a minute, pushing himself off of the larger chunks of rubble and trying to get above the dangerous permacrete, but as the ground rose up to meet him, he realized that he wasn't going to be so lucky. Taking a deep breath he attempted to stop his fall with the Force, reaching his hands out towards the huge pillars on either side. His descent slowed, and a fist sized rock struck him in the side, but he kept his focus, drawing tendrils of power from all around him, creating a cocoon of energy around his form. About a hundred meters from the surface of Taris, he stopped, staring up at the slit of light so far above, watching the rubble and Mandalorian soldiers fall to the dirt below. There were shouts of terror as they struck, but they were cut off quickly, and drowned out by the huge pieces of building. Resigned to waiting in the Undercity for rescue, Traven lowered himself to the ground, placing his boots in the thick layer of dust that covered the ground and looking around. His helmet, a standard Republic version of special forces armor, adjusted his vision so that he was able to see in the darkness, and what he saw was horrifying.

There were beasts in the darkness, staring at the bodies of the soldiers that had fallen from the Upper City with drooling mouths, lumbering forward from the blackness to scavenge in the rubble. They were white and slimy, covered in sparse, greasy hair. Traven watched as they tore into the bodies of the Mandalorian soldiers that had fallen with him, and he held his dagger tightly, turning slowly to see even more coming out of the darkness. Rakghouls.

The beasts spotted him and began to growl and hiss, the sounds spreading out from his left until he was deafened by the constant gurgling and snarling, and they began to come closer to him, itching for blood. Traven simply knelt down and put up a powerful shield, watching as they approached, only to be stopped by an invisible wall. They howled in anger at him, beating upon it with their meaty fists, but Traven didn't lower it, turning his head and smirking with amusement. They clambered over each other to get to him, clawing each other and snapping their wet jaws, but none of them could break Traven's shield. Eventually, they went back to their scavenging, acting as if he wasn't there. Traven watched them eat with a mixture of disgust and understanding, admiring the way that they broke through the Mandalorian armor using rocks or small pieces of metal. They weren't intelligent by any stretch of the word, but they weren't mindless, either. These corpses were the only source of food in the Undercity, and the only way to get to it was by using rocks or meta to break open the shell.

It also made Traven admire the tenacity of such creatures. They were filled with a dark, oily presence in the Force, as if they had been tainted by the Dark Side at some point and had never shaken its hold. Traven didn't know how long he knelt in the rubble of the destroyed skyscraper, watching the rakghouls wander around until there was only one still in sight, sitting with its head resting on its large paws, watching Traven through the invisible wall. Traven watched the beast for several long minutes before he stood and lowered the shield. The rakghoul made no move towards him, simply lifting its head and uttering a growl.

"So you won't attack me?" Traven mused to himself. The beast almost seemed to understand him, huffing once and lowering its head once more. Traven shrugged and began to make his way into the darkness of the Undercity, feeling the pulse of an ancient evil in his chest like a heartbeat that wasn't his own. There was something calling to him out there, challenging him to come find it, and Traven wasn't one to turn down a challenge.

* * *

"General Surik," Raisha greeted her commander, watching the Jedi shrouded features turn to her with interest.

"Lieutenant S17," the general greeted. "Is there a reason you've sought me out?"

Raisha nodded. "I'm sure you've heard of my commander's brave deeds on the battlefield today, as well as his rather unfortunate demise."

"I have," Meetra said, looking impassive. "It's blocked off any hope we have of reaching the other side of Taris without getting some bridging armor down here from orbit. Or going through the Lower City, but the fighting down there is disgusting."  
"Indeed," Raisha said. "I am requesting permission to search for Commander Traven S1. He may still be alive, and if he isn't...I'll bring back his body."

Meetra was quiet for a moment, watching the lieutenant's face and reading her emotions through the Force. "Why do you want to search for his body?"

"He would do the same for me," Raisha explained without revealing anything about her true motives. Sasha figured that the loss of one soldier, even an SIS, wouldn't affect their chances of victory negatively, so allowing Raisha to complete her search was possible. Indeed, Meetra was curious as to whether the fledgling Force User was able to survive the fall to Taris' surface.

"How will you find him?" Meetra asked.

"His helmet's ID signature is marked on my visor. It didn't fade when he fell," Raisha said. "If you don't mind, General, I would like to begin my search."  
"Go," Meetra said. "Be warned, however, that he may not be the same man that you once knew when you find him."

Raisha nodded solemnly and began walking back to the Republic camp. She would need some more supplies before she ventured to the Lower City.


	30. Part 2 Chapter 23

A/N: I like this chapter, and I hate this chapter. It is hard for me to tell if it is written well or not, but I like the concept behind it. I would appreciate feedback.

Chapter 29

Traven walked for hours before the presence began to transform itself into an unbearable weight upon his shoulders, making it difficult for him to breath. As the darkness enveloped him, pressing in around him like a vice, Traven began to realize that he had absolutely no idea what he was walking towards. The darkness that had been little more than a prickle in the back of Traven's mind an hour ago had become a huge beast, looming over Traven's heart and threatening to strangle his resolve. The rakghoul that had stayed with him at the site of his landing was still following Traven in the darkness, the slimy aura of the beast a constant reminder to Traven of the dangers that the Undercity held. As he took another arduous step, Traven's legs were suddenly grasped in an unbreakable grip, constricting to the point that his bones began to ache in protest. The dark presence shifted, as if just noticing Traven's presence, and the darkness closed its hands around Traven's neck, threatening to strangle the life from his body.

There was something immensely evil here, hidden in the dirt of the Undercity, and Traven had gotten himself caught in its grasp. After a moment, he was released from the oppressive grip of the dark aura, falling to his knees and coughing. He heard someone moaning in pain nearby, the sounds of their tossing and turning filling the fragile silence. Traven stood and made his way towards the sound, spotting a figure lying prone in the dirt to his right, and when he had taken several steps towards the silhouette, a small light flickered on beside a fallen soldier. He held a blaster in his trembling hands as he stared up at Traven, very nearly pulling the trigger. He stopped when he saw that the figure beside him was a human, not a rakghoul, and released a pent up breath.

"I thought...I thought you were one of _them_," the man said. He was wearing the breastplate of a Mandalorian, but his helmet had been either taken from him or discarded. The sight of the heavy Mandalorian steel armor made Traven's fists ball up. "You don't know how long I've been stuck down here...ever since the shuttle crashed. You're Republic aren't you?"

"Yes," Traven said simply, reaching slowly for the gun at his belt. The Mandalorian saw this and shrugged.

"You going to shoot me? Finally, a Republic soldier with some guts. I'm going to die of this...ah...damnable disease, anyways," he said, eyes following Traven's movements as he drew the gun from his holster. Both Traven and the Mandalorian stared at the weapon, as if neither of them knew how it had gotten there, and after a long moment, Traven extended his arm, aiming the blaster at the Mandalorians forehead.

The Mandalorian pressed his forehead against the barrel. "Do it before I turn into one of those monsters," he said, closing his eyes. Traven knew that he was trying to maintain his honor, but he could feel the fear that was rolling off of his mind in waves, crashing into Traven's mental presence and giving him pause. It was against the tenets of Svy to kill a helpless opponent, but Traven had broken that tenet many times in the past. His finger tightened on the trigger, and the blaster barked one harsh note, ending the Mandalorian's life in a spray of blood and gray matter. The body slumped to the ground, and Traven picked up the lantern that was weakly attempting to ward off the darkness. As he turned away, the body dissipated into clouds of smoke, but Traven didn't see it, for it had already been swallowed up by the blackness.

The source of the dark side presence was a small cube, pulsing with a dark crimson aura and attracting all manner of despicable creatures to its scent. Traven was able to see from the ruts in the dirt that the Mandalorian had crawled his way to the cube, only to be mauled by the rakghouls that were nesting all about it. They crawled over each other, fihgitng over every scrap of food that they could find, growling and bickering among each other. They were stronger than the ones that Traven had seen before, and when they spotted the rakghoul that was following Traven, they immediately worked themselves into a frenzy. The small runt of a beast squealed in terror at the sight of the charging animals, scrambling to get away from Traven and the monsters, but he was too slow, and was overtaken. The rakghouls tore into their smaller brother, ripping huge chunks of slimy flesh from his body with their claws, tearing into him with their rotting teeth. When the twisted perversions of rakghouls were finished, there was nothing but a torn skeleton on the floor of the Undercity.

Traven watched this with disgust and a glimmering of understanding. He felt a cold chill wash over him, as if some form of wind had found its way beneath the kilometers of steel superstructure that was layered on top of he Undercity, and he turned his head instinctively, only to find himself staring at a glowing apparition. Traven jumped, stepping away from the figure and reaching for the blaster pistl at his waist, but the soft chuckle that reached his ears gave him pause. He realized that he could see through the figure, to the ground behind him and the small crimson cube that was half buried in the dirt, and he relaxed.

"They are beautiful, are they not?" the figure said, gesturing to the rakghouls that had taken notice of Traven and begun to approach.

"No," Traven said, grimacing as he saw the saliva dripping from their mouths. "Their despicable."

"Indeed," the apparition said. The rakghouls stopped a few meters away from Traven and growled, but none of them dared to attack him. Traven raised an eyebrow at this, reaching for his blaster once again. "They sense your strength. They won't attack you."

Traven watched them, stared into their dull, glassy eyes, and they watched him, inspecting his every movement. "Who are you?"

"My name is Fulmoth," the apparition said. "I was called many things while I still lived. A visionary, a murderer, a monster. Some called me Lord. I had so much power at my finger tips, but the funny thing about power is that it kills you just as surely as it protects you."

Traven devoted his full attention to the apparition, immersing himself in the powerful aura that was emanating from the cube. "What happened to you?"

"I ruled over my subjects with benevolence, I took care of their needs and protected them from their enemies. When war was necessary, I fought; when peace reigned, I restored the values that we invariably lost in the wars. But I was so strong, so absolute, that my kindness was ignored. My subjects saw only the power at my fingertips and grew resentful. One day, while I was returning from an orphanage on a struggling world, I was ambushed by the very people I was trying to protect. I survived the attack, and killed my assailants, but when I looked into their pasts and saw that they were all men with children and wives, completely normal people that had done no wrong, I was overcome with guilt. So, I asked my people if they loved me like I loved them."

Traven nodded his head. "What did they say?"

"They said yes. Of course, they would have to. If a god asks a mortal a question, the mortal tells the god what the god wants to hear. But I knew that they were lying to me, and that was enough. I put my power into this holocron and took my own life that night, and I watched as my nation tore itself apart, just as these beasts tear each other to ribbons. My people, the subjects that I had cared for for centuries, destroyed everything that I held dear in a vain pursuit of power. So you see, these despicable monsters are beautiful because they are just like the men and women that believe themselves so superior. They, just like my subjects, will do whatever is necessary to gain power, but once they get it, it destroys them. The rakghouls are beautiful to me because I thought my people were beautiful, that they were innately good, and these beasts are just like my people."

"You created the rakghouls?" Traven asked.

Fulmoth his head. "I did not. My holocron has been here for millenia, the rakghouls have only existed for a few centuries. Indeed, another powerful force user created them as a tool to destroy the Jedi order. A Sith Lord named Karess Muur created them in search of an army. He died long ago, just as every man that searches for power dies. I merely watch the rakghouls and appreciate their representation of all sentient species. But enough of my rambling. You came here for a reason, did you not? Speak."

"I sensed the dark side presence of your holocron and was drawn to it," Traven admitted. Fulmoth laughed darkly.

"Drawn to the power that you felt. I sense strength in you, child, a power that I haven't seen for almost a thousand years, and you come here searching for more?" Fulmoth asked, watching Traven closely. "You have the look of a man that is preparing himself to do horrible things. You have touched the dark side recently, felt its power. Did it slack your thirst?"

Traven remembered the lust for blood that he had felt on the battlefield, the thunderous anger that had coursed through him as the hips rained turbolaser fire from orbit. "No," he said. "It did not."

"While I ruled over my subjects, I had a purpose to fulfill. It was what gave me life. What is your purpose?" Fulmoth asked. "What is it that you want to do?"

For a long moment, Traven and the apparition stared at each other in silence, the ring of snarling rakghouls, and it was in the moment of relative silence that Traven realized that something profound was happening. Something that could potentially change the course of his life.

"My purpose was taken from me five years ago, when my family was killed," Traven whispered. "And again fourteen hours ago."

Fulmoth hummed thoughtfully and nodded his head.

* * *

Raisha had trekked across seven kilometers of Lower City filth to reach the elevator that would take her to the Undercity. Her armor was covered in disgusting muck and blood, and her steps were labored and heavy with fatigue, but she pushed forward, stepping close enough to the elevator to open the thick blast doors. As they slowly slid open, Raisha clutched her blaster rifle tightly in her arms, hoping desperately that the elevator wouldn't have yet another threat for her to deal with. She was looking forward to the there and a half hour descent to the Undercity.

The blast doors shuddered to a halt, revealing a blood-spattered elevator with flickering lights and dented walls. It looked as if some manner of monster had been contained in the cage as it made its descent, and Raisha realized that it wasn't unlikely that there had indeed been a monster int eh elevator. Everyone knew about the rakghouls that lived on the surface of Taris, the rotting heart of the planet. They were a silent testament to how far Taris had fallen from her throne. Once a shining jewel, a paragon of trade and prosperity, Taris was now a rotting corpse, disguised by a shiny exterior.

Raisha staggered into the elevator and slumped against the wall as the doors closed once again, ignoring the blood on her armor and the aches in her muscles. It would be nice to rest for awhile, even if it was only for three hours.

* * *

"Do you hate them?" Fulmoth asked Traven suddenly, watching the young man fidget uncomfortably.

"Who?" Traven tried to deflect. The apparition snorted.

"The men that stole your purpose," Fulmoth said. "I sense that it wasn't an accident."

"I thought I hated them," Traven said at long last. "I told myself I would hunt down the ones who killed my family, but after three years, I forgot all about it. And now, I'm fighting in a war. People die in war, and Sasha was just another casualty. If I hate anyone, if I blame anyone, then it is myself."

Fulmoth nodded his head. "Now you know how I felt when my subjects attacked me. Surely their resentment was my fault, was it not? I must have done something wrong, right? After millenia of contemplation, I have discovered that it wasn't my fault after all. It was their fault for succumbing to their petty jealousy."

"It doesn't matter whose fault it is, my family is still dead," Traven said. "Sasha is still dead."

"Is that what you tell yourself?" Fulmoth said, looking very disappointed. "For one who has touched the dark side, you are very logical. Most of the pawns that I have encountered are mindless and blinded by their emotion. The Jedi that I have met are also blind, but they are blinded by their disgustingly incorrect ideals, not by the passions of their emotions. Isn't it strange how the most powerful men and women in the galaxy are all blinded by one thing or another?"

Traven nodded. "Perhaps they have to be blinded," Traven said slowly, "because if they weren't the balance of the galaxy would be upended."

"Balance," Fulmoth said, as if remembering a long forgotten ideal. "What is balance? Why is it necessary?"

"Balance is a state of being. It is necessary for civilization to flourish," Traven said, delving into his many philosophical lessons from the Lordran academy, so many years ago. "Without it, we develop crucial weaknesses that will lead to our downfall."

"If balance is so important," Fulmoth said, "Then why are there no Sith? Why are the Jedi the supreme rulers of the galaxy?"

"How do you know that they are? The Republic doesn't reach into the Outer Rim or the Unknown Regions," Traven argued.

Fulmoth smiled thinly. "You are very celver," he said. "Much smarter than your fellow Jedi. How did you loosen the shackles of your Order?"

"I was never a Jedi," Traven said.

"Interesting," Fulmoth mused. "Never a Jedi, you say. You knew a Jedi, though. I can feel the light side in you, influencing your thoughts."

"Yes," Traven said. "Her name was Sasha. She was killed yesterday, in a battle against the Mandalorians."

"Ah...this Sasha. She gave you purpose, did she not? And you are lost now, despite all the power at your fingertips and the knowledge in your mind, because she is no longer here?" Fulmoth asked, smiling, as if in triumph. "Think about your life again and tell me what your purpose is."

Traven thought back to the days on Eshan, where he had longed to protect those that couldn't protect themselves, to preserve justice on Eshan and, perhaps, in the galaxy. The doctrines of Svy and the morality of the Echani had driven him for two years, giving him the drive he needed to become the best student in the academy. Then, his life had been destroyed by slavers and a corrupt politician, and he forgot all about justice and morality. He was rejected by the Jedi, sent to an ambiguous organization where he was trained to kill and deceive. He had no purpose there, he had simply been surviving the day to day events. When the war started, he had awakened from this mockery of life and taken up a purpose: to preserve the Republic, which he saw as a good establishment, a government built on freedom and justice. But through the course of the war, Traven had seen and done things that told him the truth. The Republic wasn't any better than the Mandalorian's empire. Then Sasha had come back into his life, and he fell for her. Then, they killed her.

What was his purpose now?

It took a long time for Traven to answer his own question. There were only several things that he wanted to do. He wanted to fight, for he enjoyed the rush of battle and the thrill of a hard fought victory; he wanted to protect the people he cared about, which, at this point, was only Raisha, and he wanted to fulfill justice as often as possible. For now, these things meant fighting the Mandalorians to the last man and punishing them for their crimes during the war.

Traven looked up, met the ghostly eyes of the apparition, and spoke. "My purpose is to fight against the Mandalorians."

"And when you are victorious, and there are no more Mandalorians to fight?" Fulmoth asked.

"Then I will protect the people that I care about," Traven said immediately. The apparition nodded and slowly began to fade. As the blue mists wafted into the darkness, however, one last whisper reached Traven's ears.

"Cursed will be the day when you are forced to choose..."

* * *

As the holocron's reddish glow faded, leaving Traven in the company of the rakghouls, the beasts began to inch closer to him, extending their misshapen claws and baring their crooked teeth. The cube faded to a simple gray, devoid of the strange power that it had held before, and Traven sensed that he was in danger. With a deep breath, he lifted his hands and prepared to fight his way free from the crowd of rakghouls, back to the surface of Taris.

The elevator doors opened slowly, revealing to Raisha a barren, lifeless landscape that seemed to bear nothing but monstrosities. Rakghouls were wandering the darkness in packs, and the nearest ones perked up when they smelled Raisha's approach, snarling and barking as they started towards her. She lifted her rifle and mowed them down easily, watching her back and slowly making her way towards the signal on her visor. Traven was only two hundred meters away, but the rakghouls had heard her blaster fire and were now swarming towards her in huge numbers. The ground seemed to be writhing with their slimy flesh as they approached, and Raisha swore, taking off at a run in the direction of Traven's marker. The beasts charged forward, and Raisha turned, spewing plasma from her blaster rifle, but there were too many.

A huge mass of flesh leaped through the air, slamming into her chest and knocking her to the ground. Her leg twisted strangely as she fell, causing a strangled yelp to cut through the snarls and feral barks. Raisha crushed the beasts head with the butt of her rifle, struggling to get to her feet as the beasts brethren swarmed her, but her leg was unsteady. She only managed to draw herself up to a knee before three more were upon her, pushing her back to the ground and clawing at her armor. She felt a claw tear into her arm and cried out, looking up just in time to see a mouth full of teeth close on her helmet, crunching into the plastisteel as the beasts attempted to get through her armor.

She saw on her visor that Traven was nearby just before she saw the rakghouls begin to scatter. A figure wearing Republic armor jumped into their midst, wielding a large dagger with ferocity and spewing Force lightning in a storm. The rakghouls were torn apart by the blasts, scrambling to get away from the avenging god. When they had all retreated, the figure allowed the lightning to die away, and he turned to Raisha.

That was when she saw his face, through the visor of his helmet. It was Traven, marred by bruises and watching her with harsh yellow eyes that slowly faded to a dull white when he approached, kneeling by her side and helping her to sit up. Raisha, still panting from her near death experience, stared up at him in surprise.

"You came for me," Traven said, as if in surprise. Raisha struggled to sit up, but was only able to do so when he wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her upright.

"I knew that you were alive," she said. "I wasn't going to leave you to die down here."

Traven watched her face through the visor for a long moment before he chuckled softly and let his head droop until their helmets collided with a soft clack. "Don't do that again," he said. "I thought you were going to die when I saw all those rakghouls..."  
Raisha snorted. "How have you survived down here? How did you survive the fall?"

Traven looked around, peering into the darkness, and shook his head. "Let's get you back into the elevator," he said. "I can tell you on the way back up."

"I don't think I can walk," Raisha said. "I was foolish o come down here alone."

Traven looked down at her leg and saw the ankle, wincing in sympathy. "Then I'll carry you."

Raisha was glad that the Undercity was dark as he picked her up, for it hid the blush that spread across her cheeks. Neither of them spoke a word as Traven carried her easily back to the elevator, ignoring the rakghouls that prowled in the darkness, watching them as they walked across the barren grounds of Taris.


	31. Part 2 Chapter 24

A/N: UH OH, we're starting to diverge from canon Star Wars. Sue me. (Don't actually sue me...I hate suits.)

Chapter 30

Traven pressed his back against the wall of the barricades, closing his eyes and feeling the frantic rush of battle all around him. A throb of excitement ran through him as life was blotted out, leaving dark holes in the Force where a person had once stood, and the emotions of war ran high. Terror was thick in the air like fog, choking the breath and making it difficult to hold a rifle steady, and the steady pulse of the rocket barrage was a constant pain in Traven's ears. The Republic was winning this battle, the last stand of the Mandalorian soldiers, and Traven hadn't even had to fight for much of the conflict. Indeed, he and Raisha had been assigned to sniper duty by Meetra, sitting in a nest about a kilometer away from the front lines and picking off targets. Traven's helmet told him that he had successfully hit two hundred and seventeen targets over the course of the five hour struggle, and The Republic soldiers were just now finishing the last of the Mandalorian strongholds all over Taris.

Raisha was flat against the barricade to his side, a thin wisp of white smoke trailing from the tip of her sniper rifle and a grimace frozen on her face from many hours of intense concentration. Her aura was much more familiar to Traven than the others that he sensed, and he felt a surge of protectiveness that compelled him to subtly place a barrier around her, weak enough that it was invisible, but strong enough to block at least one incoming shot. He had lost too many friends in this war for her to join the dead today. She looked over at him, as if sensing his actions, and he smiled at her through his visor.

"What's your count?" he asked. She rolled her eyes.

"Two thirteen," she said. Traven puffed his chest out in silent acknowledgment, and she elbowed him lightly in the side. "Don't get a big head, I'll beat you before the battle's over."

Traven picked up his long, sleek Aratech Assassin VC-Mk4, a very expensive rifle that packed a heavier punch than the usual Republic sniper, but it overheated faster. His visor chose three eligible targets, enhancing his vision and allowing him to see through the scope of his rifle easily. After a split second of hesitation, simply used to even his breathing, Traven fired, the deafening shriek of the sniper blast glancing off the sides of his sound-dampening earpieces. The target took the blast to the visor and fell to the ground without his head. Raisha took aim beside him, and together they fell into a steady rhythm, each firing shots and choosing targets with calculating efficiency. The Republic soldiers mounted a charge on the Mandalorian barricades, using their final regiment of armor to breach, and the Mandalorians gave the final piece of ground that they owned. On a signal from Meetra Surik, the orbital fleet, which had been victorious the almost two weeks prior, destroyed the final stronghold of the Mandalorians with a bombardment, ending the conflict and allowing the 87th Infantry Division to perform search and destroy operations to catch the final stragglers.

The order for the infantry to hold position until the dropships could deploy was given via the comm system, and a cheer went up from the Republic soldiers. Traven powered his rifle down and stood up from his kneeling position, looking around at the celebrating soldiers. Raisha grinned and lifted her hand for a friendly high-five, and together they watched the ships descend from the clouds. They ignored the smoke that rose for miles in every direction, or the collapsed, dilapidated skyscrapers that marked the city. Taris was theirs.

* * *

Meetra Surik watched Traven remove his white, spotless armor from the doorway of his ship's armory, crossing her arms over her chest and raising one eyebrow. Raisha snorted at the posture and turned back to cleaning her rifle, and Traven turned in response to the sound, noticing the Jedi for the first time.

"General," he said.

Meetra Surik blinked at him. "You fell almost three kilometers. How did you survive?"

"I didn't have a chance to explain on Taris," Traven said. "I slowed my fall with the force, the same way that you would lift a rock."

Meetra narrowed her eyes. "Only masters are capable of levitation, yet you did it after two weeks of training by an exiled Jedi. Explain."  
"Sasha said I was strong in the Force," Traven said, trailing off as Meetra began to laugh harshly.

"She was a fool," she said. "A person's strength in the Force isn't dependent on their affinity. It takes years to gain the ability to use it. The Force is a stubborn animal that resists your attempts to ride it."

Traven frowned at the Jedi, eyes flashing at the insult to his dead mentor. "Maybe the animal likes me," he shrugged. "Does it matter? It helped us win the battle."

"Did it? We had to take a ten kilometer detour because the Mandalorians tore half a square kilometer of Taris to shreds to kill you," Meetra said. "Your actions affect people now, whether you like it or not. Because the force, for whatever reason, has granted you the abilities of a Jedi master, she has not granted you the wisdom of one. Wouldn't it have been better to use your power to support the soldiers and allow them to do the fighting, like they're supposed to, instead of stroking your ego and glory hunting? Any Jedi can awe the force-blind, but only the truly great remain anonymous."

Traven bristled in defense. "Or they're just weak," Traven said bluntly. "Not any Jedi can stand in the face of an army and survive."

"You know nothing of the Jedi!" Meetra snapped, her Jedi calm deserting her completely. "Just because you blinded one of us and got her killed doesn't mean that you can...can just use your gifts as if they grant no responsibility!"

Traven felt a hot rush of anger come over him and balled his hands into fists, his tenacious hold over the pulsing strength of the force growing weaker. Something in him desperately wanted to explode, and he barely managed to stop it. "You blame me for her death," Traven said. It was a statement, not a question, and they both knew who he was referring to. Meetra glared at him through tear-filled eyes.

"No," Meetra said. "I blame you for breaking her trust, and that began even before she died."

Traven closed his eyes as a wave of heat washed over him. "I never lied to her!" Traven hissed, digging his fingernails into his palms until blood began to bead, and Meetra shook her head.

"You lied to her by letting her teach you," Meetra said calmly, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Because you led her to believe that you were a thing of light, but truly...truly, you are the darkest being she'd ever met."

Traven was struck by the words like a powerful blow, causing his face to relax for the briefest moment in shock before he tightened it to hide his pain. Raisha stood up from where she was sitting to argue, but Traven interrupted her with an explosion of force lightning and a feral shout, the ball of cackling energy jumping to Meetra in a fit of rage. She stood impassively as it struck her invisible shields, breaking like a wave upon a rock, and diffusing into the walls of the ship. She shook her head in dismissal of his childish attack, hiding the massive toll that the defense had taken from her with sadness.

"If you ever want to know why I hate you, even when hate is outlawed by my Order, then just look into a mirror."

She spun on her heel and marched from his ship, leaving Traven to stare after her, shaken and humbled. Raisha stared at him for a moment, the pale color of his skin and the dark black veins that had spread from the corners of his eyes. She remembered back to the lessons on the Force that they had received in the academy and recognized the lines as corruption, and the dim lighting of Traven's freighter gave him a murderous look. She stepped forward cautiously, as if approaching a cornered animal, and put a hand on his shoulder. The contact jolted both of them like a static shock, and when he turned, his eyes were a broiling, deep orange, glowing with a dark power that caused chills to run up Raisha's spine. When he saw her, the fire dimmed and gave way to his usual silver, but the orange tint never left the pupil, smoldering in the darkness as if it was waiting to emerge.

"Raisha..." Traven said, turning away from her in shame. Why had he lost control like that? Hadn't he promised Raisha that he would never turn? The memory of his promise, spoken with complete honesty, now shattered and nearly forgotten, caused a deep sadness to fill him.

"Don't let her get to you, Traven," Raisha tried to comfort him. "She's just angry."  
Traven shook his head. "It doesn't matter if she's angry because she was right," he whispered.

"Right about what?" she said.

"She thought I could be a good person. She thought that I could protect people with my power. All I've done with it is destroy," Traven said quietly.

Raisha didn't know what to say, so she said nothing, simply watching him stare down at the floor, lost in thought. She knew that he had cared for Sasha, and that her death was hard for him to deal with, but that didn't seem to be the issue. The issue was the dark thing that she could see in his eyes, that demon that was waiting, whispering in his ear. It was influencing him, begging him to use its power, and when he did, it took more and more control away from him. There was nothing that Raisha could do about things like this, it wasn't an issue that could be solved simply, like an empty power cell or a failing hyperdrive. This was a matter of a battle that Traven was fighting, a battle that he was slowly losing the motivation to fight.

"You remember when Burns told you what he had been doing before the SIS found him?" she said. Traven looked at her, silently waiting for her to continue. "He said that he was a criminal and a fiend, but that the SIS made him into a soldier and a monster. You use the Force to destroy because you were taught to destroy, and you think you're a monster because you were made to be a monster. But I'm a monster too, Traven. And as long as there's a purpose to us, a reason for us to do what we were trained to do, then there's nothing evil about us monsters."

Traven watched Raisha for a long time, mulling over her words in his head. "I don't want anyone else to be like me," he said quietly, thinking back to the training sessions in the SIS, where his efforts to teach the next generation of agents to be different than the cruel, efficient executioner that he had been forged into. He knew that death awaited him if he didn't do what the Director said because behind the stiff drinks and expensive upholstery, Logan Fellsworth was a maniac and a visionary, and Traven was the method with which he would accomplish his visions. He had tried, though, to give his students a chance to be different. To do the same missions, but to do them better than he could. And he failed.

"I don't think you have a say in it anymore," Raisha said with a nod. Considering the topic closed, she grinned. "How about you burn off some steam on the sparring mats?"

"Haven't you had enough fighting, after all those weeks?" Traven asked, grinning in response. All thoughts of darkness and responsibility faded away as the focus was drawn in a more positive direction.

"Haven't you?" Raisha shot back at him.

Traven shook his head. "Echani always have another fight in them."

* * *

News of the victory at Taris reached Revan thirteen hours after the battle had concluded, and he sat in his private quarters, mulling over the reports that he had received from the generals. The casualties had been immense, but there were still enough men to complete the master stroke of Revan's plan, and his own fleet had defeated the Mandalorians at Althir. He wasn't worried about the war, but instead about the reasons behind it. The Mandalorians wouldn't have attacked the Republic simply out of lust for power, not when there was a significant chance of defeat, and their warrior culture didn't advise throwing lives away in pursuit of a hopeless war. There had to have been another reason for their assault, and the thought had been nagging at Revan's usually calm mind for weeks now. Where had the Mandalorians gotten their ships and guns? How had they been able to drive the Republic back for so long?

Why had the Jedi Council sensed something more?

The easy answer was that the council were cowards and had ignored the threat of the Mandalorians to avoid fighting, but Revan wasn't a simple man, and he had a feeling that there was more to it than that. Alek may be inclined to take the easy path and curse the council and all of the Jedi that still sit on Coruscant but Alek wasn't known for his brains. As a matter of fact, the man was rather brutish, and useful mainly on the battlefield. Similar to this SIS agent that had been included in over half of the reports on the Taris battle. The generals called him an "unstoppable force" or "a god of death." Revan knew that this meant he was never trained as a Jedi, since most Jedi were rather reserved and kept the majority of their power locked away, fearing it because of the ever present threat of the Dark Side. They didn't know what Revan knew. What he had been told by a wise teacher.

The Force controlled all things that felt it, it shaped their destiny and it used them like pawns of a dejarik game. The Jedi were a tool for the force, a simple place-holder. They were there to maintain balance. And if the Jedi existed still, then so did the Sith. And _that _was the real reason that Revan was sitting in his room, staring down at his desk in thought.

If the Force sought balance, then why were the Jedi so powerful, and the Sith nonexistent? It didn't make any sense. The Sith had to be out there, waiting, becoming powerful. If they weren't then everything the Jedi thought they knew of the Force was wrong, and they were really as blind as the galaxy believed them to be. But if the Sith were out there, then why was the Republic fighting the Mandalorians, and not a Sith armada? Revan thought he knew, and the conclusion that he drew was so ingenious, so wonderfully elegant, so beautifully simple, that he could say it in one sentence.

The Mandalorians _are _the Sith.

They weren't the force using, bloodthirsty, rage-blinded Sith that the Jedi have sworn to defeat, but they were servants of an empire in the Unknown Regions. Revan was sure of it. There was no other explanation for the might of the Mandalorian armies and the growth of their so-called empire. And if the Sith were in the Unknown regions, waiting for the right moment to strike, then Revan intended to find them, and he would be using the Republic's own fleet to do it.


End file.
